Legacies 1: The Smuggler's Daughter
by Cube162
Summary: Junaida Tormaris is determined to become a smuggler just like her father before her, but first she will have to come to terms with the legacy of her parents' roles in the galactic war that now rages between the Republic and the Sith Empire. Spoilers for Smuggler and Imperial Agent storylines.
1. Chapter 1: First Run

Disclaimer: This universe belongs to someone else. I just play in it.

**Chapter 1: First Run**

The smuggler knew that something bad was going to happen when she walked into the restaurant. She sat down in a padded booth in a near-empty establishment a few blocks out of the financial district of Ord Mantell's dusty capital, ordered soup made out of familiar Corellian-style ingredients, and waited. Corellian food reminded her of home, but not because the smuggler was Corellian. She'd had never been to Corellia, nor were either of her parents from there, but in the Galactic Core you couldn't throw a stone without hitting a human, and most of those humans were from the systems settled by Corellians, and so somehow Corellian cuisine had evolved into a sort of universal human comfort food. Even on Coruscant, the planet the smuggler reluctantly called her home, there were lots of Corellians to be found. There was lots of everything on Coruscant, though.

The server, an organic being—a female Twi'lek— brought the soup. It was good, but she wasn't comforted.

She had no real reason to be uncomfortable, not yet, anyway. Ord Mantell was a long way from home, but it wasn't strange enough to be truly frightening. The population was mostly human, which should have made the smuggler feel more at home. The terrain was familiar enough. She'd been to planets with towering trees that made her feel like an insect, flat, contourless continents, or places with gray skies and rain that never stopped. She'd seen holos of them, anyway. Still, Ord Mantell was still a strange place to the smuggler. She'd never been here—at least not that she remembered. There'd been a time when she was little that her father had brought her along on one of his trips, but had that been Ord Mantell or Ord Zat? She couldn't remember. She'd been too young.

But everything really _was_ going well. Her contact had provided her with the location of the drop off point on the Avitlan island—a war-zone these days, but that needn't bother her. She didn't plan on going anywhere near the actual conflict area. They'd used dead-drops and encoded transmissions, so the smuggler didn't know the true identity of her employer, nor did they know hers. This was important, as she was reminded every time she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glossy polished-wood surface of the bar where an aging human male was shining cutlery. If anyone saw that girl, the one staring back at her, she'd be done for. She could see the inexperience in her own face with a clarity that she hoped would get her through this, but that knew better than to rely on. The smuggler could be as honest with herself as she liked, but that wasn't going to get her out of this alive. This was her first run. That was what bothered her.

She reeked of newness. She wanted to be a smuggler, make big creds moving cargo for scofflaws, but the young woman knew that simply calling herself a smuggler didn't make her one. Being a smuggler's daughter didn't mean she was one, either, especially not when for all intents and purposes her father was retired. Whatever reputation the smuggler Vondo Ra'lon once had, he couldn't just pass it on to his daughter like a piece of advice or an old holdout blaster. Besides, she didn't even have his name. Vondo Ra'lon had married and taken his wife's name and insisted that the children do the same. The name Junaida Tormaris would strike fear into exactly zero hearts galaxy wide, until she built up a reputation of her own. She was a nobody, just a girl with pink cheeks and dark hair and the burning desire to make her own way in the galaxy by hauling cargo. Illegal cargo, of course, but Junaida Tormaris hadn't been raised to mind what was and wasn't legal. She'd been born into this business, and while nobody else might know that, she already understood how things worked on this side of the law. Her father had brought her along with him when she was little sometimes. What had he been running the last time they'd come to Ord Mantell? She remembered crates marked FRAGILE that she wasn't allowed to play near. Had they been bombs? Or were they just ducking customs to undercut regular vendors or something mundane? They might have been Alderaanian glass pots. And it might have been on Ord Zat.

She glanced at that unwelcome reflection again and saw the tense curve of her own shoulders, and the way she kept running her fingers down the edge of her vest. Tucked underneath, clipped inside a shoulder holster was her blaster. _Baby's first blaster_. It was warm next to her body, moist from her nervous perspiration. She'd bought it off of a friend of a friend from the academy. She didn't know where he'd gotten it, and she didn't care. She needed an unregistered firearm and she could get one without having to leave Coruscant. She was nineteen, tall, fashionably slender, fresh-faced with blue eyes and jet-black hair braided tightly down one side, ending in a carefully pinned coil. Yes, if anyone saw that girl there, unhurriedly working her way through the over-salted Corellian potato soup; neatly groomed and apparently collected despite the nervous glance she kept throwing at her own reflection, sipping her glass of water slowly like someone who'd never been rushed before in their life, they would know that this was her first job, and they'd start to drool. Even in the capital; Ord Mantell was a rough place.

Junaida had a feeling that it was already over for her on this job. Someone somewhere had already spotted her, and this was it. The meet was going to be a set up. There wasn't going to be a shoot-out, because both Junaida and whoever had spotted her would know that it wasn't necessary to fire shots. She would go down without a fight. She would scare easy. She was just a little girl who was a long way from home. Barely one year ago she had sat in a stiff white dress in line with six hundred other teenagers in the auditorium of the Coruscant Academy of Achievement Preparation and received her diploma from a Bothan who had certainly already forgotten her face and name. She'd been a mediocre student. She'd caused trouble, but not too much trouble. She was insignificant and harmless.

That's where they were wrong. Sure, this _was_ her first job. Sure, she'd never been in a blaster fight before, unless you counted light-tag, and shooting desh off a fence on Alderaan, but she'd gotten herself this far. She'd decided to follow in the footsteps of her father—quite without his knowledge, of course—and she was going to see this transaction through, no matter what it took. _Fake it until you make it_, she thought to herself. This was quickly becoming her favorite mantra, as much as she knew that mantras were poor defense against real danger.

Junaida Tormaris paid the server, gathered up her coat, and ran her finger down the edge of her vest again as though straightening it, while her thumb brushed the hard metal of her illegal Black Talon Pulse-Wave Blaster underneath. She thanked the server and ran a magnetized fingertip over the sensor in her earlobe that activated her comm implant as she stepped onto the street.

"Fiver, check in," she whispered into the mic in her collar as she pulled her helmet over her head and climbed onto her rented speeder-bike.

The astromech droid, full designation R1-F5C, was a souvenir of her childhood and a summer at Junior Circuitry Camp. She'd assembled him partly by herself, partly under the supervision of the tireless camp instructors who had insisted that unless you were a fighter pilot there was no use for an astromech at all, but Junaida had found the gutted droid in a salvage heap and liked the look of him, and remained obstinate. She stood by her choice. While potentially impractical, Junaida appreciated having a droid for a companion whose speech was limited to binary. Fiver warbled back an all-clear signal, but even the droid's tone, which Junaida had learned to interpret as cheerful, did little to allay her growing trepidation.

"Any word from Skavak?" she asked. Of course, while Junaida wasn't entirely certain of the identity of her employer, she had managed to figure the identity of the other smuggler who'd been hired to do this job with her. Skavak would be running the second half of the job. She wasn't naive enough go in believing ignorance was armor.

Fiver warbled back a chirp Junaida that knew meant no. She had a bad feeling about Skavak. First of all, he was a smuggler without references who was anything but new to the game. Usually, a smuggler worked up a list of jobs with reputable references—by disreputable standards. Employers, a list of happy clients, jobs completed, shipments delivered, and also of customs officials they knew suspected something, and planets they knew they could slip in and out of undetected. Skavak had none of this. His record was spotless. Among thieves, his tabula rasa stank like a dead bantha under twin suns. Nobody had a record that clean. Even Junaida, as fresh as she was to the game, had a couple of counts of public misdemeanor and petty theft to her name—part of the reason why she'd been sent to Junior Circuitry Camp. Either Skavak wasn't Skavak's real name, or his records had been purged. Their employer—the nameless source who had enlisted them for the transport a shipment of arms off Ord Mantell—had chosen to look past this red flag. Perhaps they thought that any man who can scrub his record that clean could also get a shipment of guns out of the system clean, too.

Junaida's job had been to collect the guns planetside and then meet Skavak in orbit so he could take them far away. Her record would get her in and out easy, and his experience would get the goods the rest of the way. He was waiting out there now, just off of the big hyperspace routes, hidden in the gravity well of the fifth planet's moon. Junaida knew the job she was doing was illegal. Most arms were being shipped _to_ Ord Mantell, be it from one nameless benefactor that smelled like the Galactic Republic, or by a different one that was likely Sith. People here _wanted_ guns, so anybody taking guns off planet would run into bad humor not only with the Republic Police, who were responsible for filling the law-enforcement gaps on the planet during the war, but also with whatever faction planetside had wanted them in the first place. Junaida didn't really care. That particular red flag she would ignore. In fact it was her job to ignore that red flag. She was a smuggler. If nobody cared that this cargo got delivered off planet, she'd just be a courier pilot.

The second red flag was the knowledge that since Junaida was able to find out anything about Skavak at all, he probably knew everything about her as well. As clever as she might have felt tracing untraceable comm connections and getting her hands on the Galactic Police records files connected with them and then to the vagabond called Skavak, she was probably only half as clever as every other smuggler with holo-net access. She'd managed to figure out who she was working with, so she was confident that Skavak did too. Which was bad news.

There was a third red flag, as well. Junaida had pulled up Skavak's file in the GalPol database and found his latest holo, to be of a man with dark hair and spidery black face-tattoos, strong jaw and arrogant smile, and she found him absolutely stunning. Junaida may have only have been nineteen, but she had learned well enough _not_ to trust her instincts when it came to men. Any man who made her heart beat fast was best avoided like the Rakghoul plague.

But this was just business. Junaida knew she had to keep it that way, but it felt counterintuitive to trust someone with her life, never mind that she didn't have any alternative now, when she knew that even a simple schoolgirl crush on a man like this was misguided. A man like Skavak could have her killed during this encounter just because he had nothing to profit from her staying alive, and fewer ways to split the actual profits from the job. Junaida was sure that if Skavak knew how easy it would be, he would put her out an airlock and never think twice, so Junaida had made sure to only ever meet Skavak over HoloComm, and she'd been disguised. Her gender, her species, her accent, her age; all these things could lead back to her true identity and get her killed or scammed. Was she in over her head? Probably, but there was no turning back now. And still she had a very bad feeling about working with Skavak.

Junaida wasn't force sensitive or anything. That honor fell to her youngest sister Alsina, who'd been shipped off to study with the Jedi when she was five years old. Alsina was fourteen now. Once, a couple years earlier, Alsina had sent Junaida a message on the HoloNet warning her that her old boyfriend was cheating on her. Junaida wished Alsina'd send her a message now. Maybe she'd sensed something. Junaida asked Fiver to check the HoloNet just in case.

Fiver chirped "all clear" again.

"Blast it," Junaida said to herself, keying the ignition of the speeder. "I guess that means I've got nothing to worry about."

Two hours later, pinned down under heavy fire beneath the leaking fuel-tank of the old cruiser parked in the docking bay next to hers, Junaida cried out, "Okay okay! Cease fire! Cease fire! I surrender!"

A few stray blaster-bolts lit up the duracrete flooring, skittering all too close to the puddle of highly volatile fuel leaking from the cruiser. Junaida ducked out of cover and saw a blaster-rifle take aim at her from across the bay, but the lead officer motioned for him to stop. She gasped for breath, air coming only with great difficulty through the pounded intake valve in her helmet. She'd taken a bolt to the helmet that had nearly knocked her out right as she stepped into the hangar bay. She'd heard something inside and reached for her blaster, and that was all the provocation her attackers needed to open fire. It had taken her a few minutes to sort up from down and right from left again, and in that time everything had gone to pieces. She'd drawn her blaster and opened fire, ducking behind a conveniently located crate, and prayed to whatever gods people normally prayed to that this wasn't one of the arms crates filled with explosives. It wasn't.

But the people firing on her weren't robbers, they were customs officials, dressed in blue Ord Mantellian armor, lined up in tight defensive formation, shooting to keep her still but not kill her. All the while the leader shouted orders at her.

"Put your weapon down! You are under arrest, Junaida Tormaris, for the transportation of stolen military goods with the intent to sell! Lower your weapon and we will take you into custody! Lower it now! Now!"

But she had kept shooting, not aware of exactly what had happened. How did they find her? She hadn't even started yet. She'd only just gotten to Avitlan and stepped outside the spaceport to see what Fort Garnik was made of. She'd heard stories of pink skies and wanted to see for herself. She had still been waiting for her contacts to deliver the goods to the hangar so she could take them off world. She hadn't committed any crime—not yet, anyway. How could this happen?

"I surrender!" she repeated, tossing her blaster to the ground and raising her hands above her head. One of the commandos grabbed her by her arms and threw her to the ground. She felt the click of binders being activated, trapping her wrists together. Her head hit the ground. The broken panel on her helmet crushed the intake valve even more. She couldn't breathe. She tried to yell. Everything was growing dark.

And then the officer pulled her helmet off and she could breathe again. She pressed her forehead to the cool duracrete and gasped for air. Oxygen flooded her brain and she became aware, out of the corner of her eye, a pool of red spreading across the hangar floor. One of the officers was down, two of his or her companions tearing away the armor to apply a compress. Had she done that? The officer holding Junaida's binders shook her, slamming her face into the floor. "You piece of shit," he hissed. "You're going to pay."

"Enough," snapped the leader. "There'll be time for that later. Ms. Tormaris. Where is your ship?"

"My ship?" Junaida repeated.

"Yes," snapped the man again. He had removed his helmet. He looked very angry. Middle-aged. A career pro. Probably ex military. Scratch that, probably _still_ military.

"My ship?" Junaida stuttered. "Is it not here?"

Rough hands wrenched her torso up from the ground so she could see. Junaida's vision swam and for the first time she realized why she'd had to run so far for cover from the blaster fire. The docking platform where her ship was supposed to be, where she had just parked it minutes earlier, was empty.

Junaida closed her eyes and was surprised to find that she felt reassured. "Skavak," she whispered.

"What?"

"Ahh, ak," she groaned unconvincingly. She wasn't about to sell out her accomplice, even if it was starting to look like he was more of a double-crosser than a helping hand. Tattling was bad form. Any ten-year-old knew that. "My ship—it _was _here. I don't know where it is."

"Your ship and the guns, _where are they_?" the officer demanded, slamming her head back down to the ground. She thought her nose would break, and then it did. She heard a crunch and was temporarily blinded by pain, choking on her own blood.

"What guns?" she lied, but it was hard to speak. "I don't know!"

"Enough," said the leader in a calm, authoritative tone. "Take her to lockup. We'll question her later and clean her up. We need to find that ship. Line up and move out, boys!"

The angry officer hoisted Junaida to her feet and marched her across the hangar to a military speeder nearby. The others had finished patching up their injured comrade, who sat up, face pale and disoriented. There was blood all around him. Junaida felt sick. There was blood all down her front now, too.

"Do I get a lawyer?" she asked meekly.

The turned to face her, shooting her a look that though through his helmet Junaida could only imagine was a sneer. "Where do you think you are, Coruscant?" he spat. "Don't got no lawyers out here, miss. Just us or the Seps. Wanna bet who'd keep you alive longer?"

"I'm not a fan of gambling," Junaida replied, but the engine drowned out her words. And then it occurred to her that she'd survived. Against all odds and despite losing her ship and her droid and probably her cargo, she was alive.

And that meant her parents were going to kill her.

The urgent signal came in a little after midnight, Coruscant central time. The personal Holo-terminal in the master bedroom lit up and chirped, demanding attention. Vondo Tormaris rolled out of bed but left the lights off, not wanting to wake his wife, but knowing full well that she was already awake. They were both trained to wake at the slightest sound, even if they hadn't had to use that training in a while now. Vondo took the call, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and checking the call's origin. It was his daughter; the troublesome one.

Her form swam into focus in miniature before him, shoulders slumped, hands clasped behind her back. Not clasped, bound.

"Juni?" he began.

"Dad," Junaida Tormaris replied, but it was less of a greeting and more of a plea.

"What's going on?" Vondo demanded, enlarging the image so he could see Junaida's face and shoulders. There was dirt on her face. No, not dirt—blood. The color on the projector was so bad he could hardly tell. Reception was bad. Her nose was broken, but she looked sharp, alert, and focused. Vondo knew that look. He'd worn the exact same look when he was her age. Troublesome indeed.

"It's okay," she insisted, but looked down, still appearing more amused than repentant. "There's been a misunderstanding. I'm on Ord Mantell. Someone's stolen my ship and they think I'm...mixed up in something crazy." Now she got her act together and looked terrified, like she really had no idea why she'd been arrested.

_Where did she learn to lie like that_? Vondo wondered but almost laughed. She was good. This wasn't the first time she'd falsely professed to be innocent while being held by police, and if her performance was less convincing than usual now, the blood on her face probably had something to do with that, but she was still good. Or course, both of her parents were professional liars. She'd been raised in a literal den of thieves. Mixed up. Of course she was mixed up. Vondo felt a pang of guilt and then gathered himself up to put on his best angry father voice. "Mixed up?" he repeated curtly. "Young lady, I want you to tell me now and truthfully, what exactly are you mixed up in?"

"Nothing!" Junaida insisted, eyes flashing. She almost smiled. _No child, don't smile. If anything, you need to cry._ Junaida looked down again and for a moment Vondo thought she _was_ going to cry. Maybe she simply couldn't pull it off. She'd never fake-cried to get out of trouble before. No, she'd always worn her punishment like a badge. Troublesome. "I wanted to visit the dig-site. There's some ancient circuitry remnants being dug up here. You and mom said I could go." Junaida appeared mortified for a moment. "Mom's not there right now, is she?"

Vondo shot a glance across the room to his wife. She was out of bed but had her attention fixed on the window, not the Holo-terminal, though there was no doubt that she was listening intently. Outside, a crane with blinking red lights ferried a handful of builder-droids from one level of a formerly devastated skyscraper to another. The transparisteel blocked out all the noise, but the rebuilding of Coruscant was still visible to those who cared to look. She glanced at him and smiled.

"No, she's not," he lied. "You'd better thank your lucky stars. Have you been charged with anything yet? Where's _here_?"

"Not formally, no? And I'm on Ord Mantell. Avitlan. Fort Garnik."

"Have you been mistreated?"

Junaida shrugged, "Yeah, but I more or less did some mistreating of my own when things first went down." Besides the bloody nose and bruised cheek, Junaida _did_ look all right. No missing limbs or broken ribs. Nothing lasting. Well, assuming she got that nose treated properly. Now _that_ would teach her to stay out of trouble. He wondered if Junaida could get on without the perfectly symmetrical, pretty face that had helped her out of tight spots before. Not as tight as the spot she was currently in, though. There was a point where looks stopped counting.

Vondo wanted to laugh. Instead he glowered. "Don't say or do anything. They _will_ release you in the morning."

"And then what?" Junaida asked, meeting his eyes. "I don't have a ship, I don't have any money—they took Fiver!"

Vondo shook his head. Losing the droid seemed to upset her more than anything. He _knew _letting her get an astromech so shortly after their akk dog had died wasn't a good idea. "I'll send someone," he reassured her. "I've got some friends in that sector. They'll help you get back to Coruscant. And then," he began and paused to glare at the Holo-terminal, "We will talk."

Junaida nodded and muttered, "Thanks," before turning to someone out of the frame and nodding again. The image dissipated and the terminal lights changed from blue to dull orange, and then faded into darkness.

Vondo ran a hand through his black hair. Junaida seemed to have inherited all of her features from him. His coloring, his crooked smile, his taste for distasteful company and most of all for trouble. It was starting, now. How old had he been when he'd first been arrested for something serious? What was Junaida trying to haul? He didn't doubt for a second that she _was _in on some sort of illegal transportation deal. She'd always followed in his footsteps. He'd raised her on his own a lot since her mother hadn't been around back then. It had been difficult, but that was a long time ago.

Vondo's wife turned to face him and gave him a small, tired smile before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Like father like daughter," she murmured, though it was resigned and almost affectionate. "I was always an obedient child," she told him, "And it brought me just as much trouble and danger as Junaida's rebellious ways do."

"Is being a scofflaw considered rebellious if it runs in the family?" Vondo asked and reached out to stroke his wife's hair. "Shannin, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Shannin asked.

"When she was little, I always brought her with me. I didn't know what else to do. Maybe she thought it was easy, that it was _good_, what I did."

"You were a parent," Shannin assured him with a small shrug, "Which was more than I ever was. _I'm_ sorry. Besides, I'd rather she learn to take after you than me." She leaned her head against his shoulder and held her breath.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Vondo told her and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "We did our best."

"Yes, and made a right mess of it all the same," Shannin grumbled neutrally and then sighed. "We left them a terrible legacy."

"Is there any other kind?" Vondo observed and let go of Shannin. Getting up, he pulled the curtains over the window shut and then walked back over to the Holo-terminal, switching it on again.

"Who are you calling?" Shannin asked as she climbed back into bed and pulled the covers over her legs.

"I know a kid who lives on Ord Mantell. He's been running with the freedom fighters there for the past few years."

"Not Corso Riggs, Vondo?"

"Why not?"

"He's just a little boy, isn't he?"

"It's been ten years since I dropped him there," Vondo reminded Shannin. "He ought to be a man by now."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Shannin asked, a small smile flickering across her tired face.

"I'd trust Corso with my life," Vondo assured her, typing a short text message and sending it across the HoloNet.

"Yes, but would you trust him with our daughter?"

Vondo crawled back into bed in the dark and pulled the covers up over his shoulders, trying to find the warmth that had seemed to already gone out of the sheets in the few minutes he'd been up. He took a moment or two to think about the question and then nodded. "Yes, actually. I just don't know if I trust our daughter with Corso."

Shannin sighed a small laugh and found her husband's hand beneath the covers and squeezed it tight. "She's a good girl," she said and closed her eyes. "All he needs to do is get her out of prison and then she'll come straight home."

"You don't believe that, do you?" Vondo asked with a tired smile. "You don't believe what she said, do you?"

"Of course not," Shannin assured him. "I'm just hoping she'll have learned her lesson and be done with it."

"If she's sensible like her mother, she will," Vondo declared. "I'm just worried that she takes too much after me."

Shannin smiled and seemed to reflect on this. After a few moments of silence she replied, "I was never sensible."


	2. Chapter 2: Corso Riggs

**Chapter 2: Corso Riggs**

The Mantellians let Junaida go in the morning. They had no evidence but an untraceable tip from an anonymous source that something was going on in that hangar. Sure, a shipment of arms to the Republic garrison in Fort Garnik had gone missing, but there was no definitive evidence that it wasn't a clerical error, let alone anything to link its disappearance to Junaida. A long, bitter conflict between neighbors had made law enforcement weak, weary, and suspicious, but they had nothing with which to formally charge Junaida regarding the missing shipment, so they hit her with assaulting a law enforcement official, but decided by morning to release her on accounts of time served, which most certainly meant that Junaida's parents had gotten involved and money had been transferred. They called it settling out of court, never mind that shooting a customs official was a criminal offense.

Junaida's head ached and she couldn't breathe through her nose. She was cold and hungry from a night under thin blankets on a hard cot, with a packet of sub-military grade rations that must have been past their best-by date, and so when she stepped out of the holding center into the warm morning sun, she felt better than she had ever imagined feeling again. She sat down on a bench wet with rain across the street from the holding center and tried to figure out what was going to happen next.

Her dad was going to send someone, of that she was sure, but of all her father's contacts, friends, and the people she had grown up calling, auntie or uncle, she couldn't remember anyone living near Ord Mantell. Of course, those had been her father's legitimate contacts and friends, and from an early age Junaida had known full well that these people were only the tip of an iceberg of lawless characters. He'd shielded her from his "business" friends and associates for the most part, but there had still be a lot of strangers passing through Junaida's childhood, pinching her cheeks with one hand and telling her she was a pretty, good girl without taking the other hand off their blasters. She'd spent a lot of time with her grandparents as well when daddy went off on scary business and wouldn't take her with him. Kashyyyk and Alderaan. She remembered lots of wookiees playing sabacc in her father's ship's hold. Her father had liked to hire wookiees.

A groundcar hurried on by and Junaida followed it with her eyes, but it didn't stop. Maybe her father hadn't found anyone after all? Maybe this was it. Maybe her father wanted to teach her a lesson. No, that would be pointless. Junaida was completely alone here. Her only friend had been her droid, and her only assets her ship and the credits in her bank account, which she was more or less cut off from. She had one credit stick on her, charged with enough credits to buy her lunch, dinner, and half a hotel room. Or maybe if she didn't eat and found a cheap hotel, two nights' accommodation. That would buy her time.

Time to what?

Junaida touched her nose gingerly. It was swollen and purple from being slammed into the floor. The guards had given her a cold compress at one point, but it had lost its cold and never been replaced. Junaida's jailers had done the bare minimum to make her comfortable, which was more than she might have hoped for, but still left her chilled and swollen.

"You'll have to re-break it," a voice called from up the street.

Junaida nearly jumped. A man was approaching her on foot, dressed in the rough spun local wear; brown trousers, a light gray tunic, and a checked scarf. She would have mistaken him for a farmer if it hadn't been for the blaster rifle slung across his back, the butt of which stuck up over his shoulder. Junaida's heart skipped a beat and she almost cried from relief as she recognized the man's dark brown skin, marred by small scars in several places, his dark hair dread-locked and pulled back in a tidy ponytail. He gave her a smile, but it was a weak one that showed concern, and what was that—disappointment?

"Corso!" Junaida exclaimed, rising to her feet. Corso Riggs had been one of her father's associates that had fallen in between the categories of legitimate and business, not really an uncle but certainly some part of the extended family of scofflaws her parents had managed to accumulate over the years. Vondo Tormaris had gotten Corso Riggs off of Ord Mantell years previously when he was only fourteen or so; about the same time Junaida's mother had finally settled down to raise the kids somewhat properly on Alderaan. Corso had stayed with them for a while, and they'd been encouraged to call him "cousin," while her father jokingly called him "Padawan." He'd been trying to make it as a gun for hire somewhere in the conflict area on Ord Mantell despite barely knowing which end of the blaster the bolt came out of. At some point he stopped being Cousin Corso who helped carry groceries in from the speeder and started being Mr. Riggs, daddy's business partner who, like the wookiee Bowdaar, went on adventures and came back with presents and funny stories and blaster-burns. Junaida had had no idea that he'd returned to Ord Mantell. She'd been little and hadn't paid attention to anything that wasn't an akk or painted purple.

Junaida wasn't sure if she ought to hug Corso or shake his hand, so she did neither. Corso nodded to her coolly and tried to smile, but his expression was more one sadness and hesitant pity. "Juni, Juni," he said slowly, looking at the ground. "When did you stop playing with dolls and start playing with guns?"

"I never played with dolls," Junaida informed him jokingly, but it failed to make the man smile. Corso was grim faced and serious. Junaida didn't remember him like this. She remembered him being funny and harmless, playing tricks on her little brother and shooting desh off the fence in the back yard with her father. Boring perhaps, in the eyes of a little girl, but not serious.

"What brings you here?" Junaida asked as Corso motioned for her to follow him.

"This is my home rock," he explained. "When your dad and I parted ways I came back here."

"What for?" Junaida asked, climbing into the passenger seat of a dirty, previously red speeder. The paint was chipped, the leatheris interior worn and scorched baring foam stuffing in places.

"To even some scores," Corso replied and keyed the engine. "Come on, I'll take you to my sister's to clean up." The speeder had an open top. Junaida immediately feared for her delicate nose, but unless something flew up and hit them, she ought to be fine, but when the speeder lurched forward Junaida covered her nose with both hands to shield it, but everything was fine and she wasn't in any more pain that before. She relaxed. She expected Corso to laugh at her, but he didn't. His dark eyes stayed trained on the road ahead. If Junaida hadn't felt that she was in trouble before, she certainly did now.

Corso's sister's place was a shelled-out cottage near the coast in what Junaida was fairly sure was an active war-zone. The separatists were struggling for independence from the Republic, and the Ord Mantellian countryside was increasingly coming to resemble a nerf-steak being fought over by two nexu; torn and bloody. Corso didn't seem to mind. He parked his speeder and threw a dirt-colored tarp over it. Junaida wasn't sure if this was to keep the dust off or camouflage it from the air.

"My sister has some clothes you're welcome to," Corso told her as he unlocked the manual deadbolt on the door to the cottage and let them in. "I don't know how long it'll take to find you a ride off planet, but the next ship we find heading Core-ward has you on it, I promise."

Junaida blinked. "What about my ship?"

"I'm sorry about your ship," Corso called from the kitchen. Junaida heard running water, and Corso returned with a wet towel. "Sit down, I'll clean you up." He sounded resigned, like he didn't want to be doing this at all, but when Junaida took a seat on a termite-eaten kitchen chair, Corso took her chin delicately in one hand and started to clean the dried blood from her face.

"Does this hurt?" he asked, dabbing the bridge of her nose gently.

"No," Junaida lied.

Corso set the towel down and grasped her nose between his hands and jerked it violently. Junaida heard a crack, and pain shot through her nose again.

"For the love of-!"

"Had to be done," Corso said and tossed her the towel. He was smiling a little. "You don't want your nose to heal like Skavak's, do you?"

Junaida's heart skipped a beat. So he knew. "Who?" she asked weakly.

"Very funny," Corso drawled. "Skavak's been doing regular 'business' on Ord Mantell since before _I_ was old enough to buy alcohol. Probably before he was, too, not to mention _you_."

"What are you saying?" Junaida glared, wiping fresh blood away from her nose, but she could already breathe through it again.

"How old are you, Juni?"

"Nineteen."

"Then you're _much_ too young to be getting involved with men like Skavak."

"Involved?" she repeated. "How exactly do you think I'm _involved_ with him? Do you think we'd eloped?"

"Well, no," Corso laughed. He produced a crisp white cloth from one of the cupboards and passed it to Junaida to sop up the blood running quite freely from her nose. "Skavak's not the marrying type. Not even for eloping."

"He was my contact," Junaida informed him grimly. "I never even met him in person. I tracked him to a bar so I could size him up, but he never saw me."

"Listen, Junaida," Corso said, sliding onto the counter-top and looking down on her. "You've got a lot to learn about this kind of work, and it's best if you don't. You went to a good school, and you did well, right? You could get into an officer's program in the Republic forces if you want adventure." He paused to frown while he thought about what he was going to say next. "Hell, if you want adventure, Juni, go wind-surfing on Dac or—or sign up for an archaeological dig on Tython! Don't put your neck on a vibro-saw block like this." Corso shook his head. "When your dad called me and said you'd gotten into some trouble on Ord Mantell, I half thought I was gonna be IDing a corpse for him. This isn't the place for a girl like you."

"A girl like me?" Junaida repeated slowly, patiently. She didn't like this serious Corso. Cousin Corso was silly, maybe a little dim but always kind. This Corso was grave and paternal—graver than her real father had been when she'd called him. "Corso, how old were you when you tried to go mercenary? Fifteen?"

"Fourteen."

"Right, and how old were you when my dad took you along on your first fire-fight?"

"Fifteen," Corso informed her.

"Yeah, so the way I see it," Junaida said, raising her voice but trying not to sound as offended as she felt, "I've got four years on the way you started. I'm a top notch shot, I speak five languages, and I'm the best slicer this side of Coruscant. Well, Fiver is, but I made him!"

"It's not the same," Corso insisted automatically. "I didn't _want_ to get into this," he said, nodding briskly at a hole in the ceiling. A dusky pink sky glimmered without. "War came to me, trouble found me, not the other way around. I didn't go looking for it. I didn't have a choice."

Junaida glowered.

"Besides," Corso said, getting up and filling a glass of water for himself from the tap. "It's different for girls."

"Did you really just say that?" Junaida asked and leaned back in her chair. "You think I can't handle myself? Because I'm a girl?"

"I _know_ you can't handle yourself," Corso told her, draining the glass. "Maybe you forgot, but I just picked you up from jail."

"Because I'm a girl?" Junaida repeated.

"Because you're too young," Corso backtracked, shaking his head. Junaida hadn't noticed before, but Corso looked tired. It then occurred to her that the rifle wasn't just a decoration. Of course it wasn't. She knew that. Corso'd been a gun-for-hire working with her father when she was eight, but she hadn't stopped to think what that really meant. Maybe Corso had come straight from the field to pick her up. Was the muzzle even cool yet? Junaida remembered the officer she'd shot and wondered how he was pulling through. She wondered how much money her father had given him to keep from filing charges. She felt nauseous, but _not_ because she was a girl. She was new to this—about that much Corso was right, but she wasn't too young, and being a girl didn't have anything to do with it.

"You can take a nap in my sister's room," he told her. "First on the left. We'll head into town this evening to chat up pilots." He rummaged around in a durasteel box and then tossed her a medi-pack. "Here, for the nose. Nobody's going to give a brawler a ride."

"Thanks," Junaida mumbled and got to her feet. "When does your sister get back?"

"She doesn't," Corso told her, grabbing a couple of different stims from the box and pocketing them. "She's dead."

Junaida felt worse when she woke up three hours later. She had been warm under the moth-eaten blankets, but while the swelling in her nose had gone done, it still hurt like crazy—exacerbated by the kolto-infused pad she'd stuck to it, which was speeding up healing exponentially but doing nothing for the pain. She was hungry, thirsty, and grumpy when Corso shook her and told her it was time to go. Night had fallen, and Corso had put a long leather jacket on. The rifle still hung over his shoulder.

"Do you have any food?" she asked.

"No," he replied. "I'll buy you something later."

"I have some credits," Junaida insisted. "Enough for food, anyway."

"But not enough for a trip home," Corso pointed out. "Your father sent me some money. Don't worry about it."

Junaida rolled out of bed and checked her reflection in the dusty mirror beside the bed and peeled off the kolto-patch from her nose. The skin underneath was pink, but no longer bruised or swollen, and the cartilage did seem to have healed straight.

"It just occurred to me," Junaida said taking a sip from the glass of water Corso offered her as they headed out the door, "But I may have bigger problems than getting off planet."

"Like what?" Corso asked, adjusting his rifle strap and tightening his scarf. He appeared to have cleaned his face. Junaida could see a fresh pink graze-wound on the corner of his jaw where there'd only been dirt before.

"Like what if they think _I_ made off with the blasters."

"What blasters?"

"The blasters I was supposed to get to Skavak two hours ago."

"Skavak's buying blasters?"

"No," Junaida replied, shaking her head. It was cold outside. She wished she had a jacket.

"Here," Corso offered, handing over his own jacket after a moment of looking put-out and tired. "I've had a stim. They usually keep you warm if you remember to eat and sleep."

"When did you last sleep?"

"Who was buying the blasters?" Corso pressed.

"Beats me," Junaida replied, climbing into the speeder. "I never knew my employer, just that I was supposed to pick up the guns in the hangar yesterday and deliver them to Skavak in space a little while ago."

Corso shook his head, but he didn't seem angry. He didn't seem amused though, either. "Yeah, I'd say you had bigger problems," he agreed. "You _always, always, always_ want to know who your employer is, Juni! That's illegal dealing one-oh-one!"

"Sorry," Junaida said as the motor cut in. "They don't teach you that in school."

"Don't apologize to me," Corso shouted over the noise with mock indifference. "Do you have a blaster?"

"No," Junaida shouted back. "They confiscated mine when I was arrested. Said I didn't have a license." Of course she didn't have a license. She'd bought the gun off an old boyfriend on Coruscant, and she was pretty sure he hadn't had a license for it either.

Corso shook his head. They drove the rest of the way in silence, but when they started to pass skyscrapers and neon lights, Corso pulled into an underground parcade and opened the trunk of the speeder. He stowed his rifle and pulled a heavy black cloth from a buffet of small arms.

"Sleep tight, Sergeant Boom," he said to the rifle with cheerful fondness as he tucked it into the back of the trunk. "Punchy, your turn to come out and play." He picked up a smallish, heavily modified blaster and tucked it into the holster on his hip. "Well, Juni, I'm not taking you into Avitlan's Rest unarmed." He tentatively weighed a couple of the other blasters before passing Junaida the smallest holdout blaster.

"Ha ha," Junaida drawled, reaching into the trunk and selecting a different one instead, a bigger SoroSuub SSK heavy blaster that showed signs of heavy use and excellent care. "What's her name?"

"Torchy's not really a lady's gun, Juni," Corso said and frowned.

"Then it's a good thing I'm not much of a lady," Junaida teased and arched her eyebrows as she settled Torchy into the empty holders underneath her vest.

They walked the rest of the way to the cantina. Corso looked cold but he wouldn't admit it, and Junaida was mostly content to keep his jacket. It was a little big for her, and long, but she hoped that it made her look like an experienced traveler who preferred comfort and functionality to style, and not like a little girl in daddy's coat.

When they stepped into the cantina, Junaida immediately felt nervous. The place wasn't as run-down as she would have expected. There were no scorch-marks on the tables or walls. The servers were in uniform and were flesh and blood instead of droids. Most of the clientele were human, though Junaida spotted a table of Twi'leks, a couple of Bothans, and a Gamorrean sipping ale with a similarly-sized human male. Most of the clients were clean and behaving politely. It wasn't the kind of place you minded walking into unarmed.

"Howdy," Corso said conversationally to the bartender. "You know of any pilots in the place tonight?"

"Upstairs," said the woman, sizing Corso up, with a summary glance for Junaida. "As usual."

Corso nodded and led them up a narrow flight of stairs into a smoking-room. Here Junaida saw that humans were outnumbered two to one by all sorts of aliens, the servers were droids, just as one would expect of a place that was probably less than pleasant to work in, and everyone was talking at least two decibels louder than in the restaurant below. Corso sighed. "I'm back," he murmured.

They both ordered food and drinks and took a table in the center of the room because all the corner booths were taken. Junaida didn't like it, but Corso liked it even less. He complained about the table, the food, the smoke, and didn't touch his ale. Junaida made it half way through her meal before her hunger dissipated, leaving her enough presence of mind to actually _taste_ the stuff, and while she finished her plate, she felt ill afterward. Corso just watched her.

"Bathrooms up another set of stairs to the left," Corso told her as she fought to keep the food down. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Please," Junaida said more bravely than she felt. "I think I can be trusted to go to the bathroom by myself."

Corso shrugged. He wasn't teasing her, but seemed actually concerned, and that bothered Junaida.

She stumbled up the stairs and hovered over the refresher station for five minutes waiting to throw up before the nausea passed. She splashed some water on her face from the tap and took a deep breath. She looked as good as she felt. The coat was too big and covered in dirt and it made her look smaller than she already was. There were dark circles under her eyes. She looked like someone in desperate need of a hot meal and a good night's rest, never mind that she'd just eaten and had slept all day.

"Pull it together, girl," she said to her reflection. "You've gotten yourself into this, and now you're going to get yourself out." _Fake it until you make it. _She flashed herself a smile, straightened her shoulders, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Directly into the muzzle of a blaster. It dug into her stomach, poised to rip a hole in her guts. The gun was being held by a tall man with broad shoulders and an equally broad smile that she recognized from RepPol mugshots. It was Skavak.

"Pleased to meet you properly this time," he said softly. Junaida glanced behind him, but they were in the narrow doorway of the bathroom, out of sight of the cantina patrons, including Corso. "I don't know why you kept your face hidden." He reached up and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Such a pretty face."

Junaida felt her heart beat, but it wasn't fear or schoolgirl nerves that were making her feel warm inside. It was a strange, desperate kind of confidence. The food—however bad-tasting—was giving her strength and focus. Maybe it was just that her mild concussion was wearing off, but she felt sharper than she'd felt yet during the operation, as though she had everything under control. Everything except the blaster pointed at her gut, but she could change that.

"S-Skavak," she stuttered and willed herself to blush. It wasn't hard. There was no point pretending she didn't know who he was. They'd both done their homework, and they'd both figured out who they'd be working with. "My ship!" she hissed.

"There there," Skavak told her, pressing forward with the blaster until she was pinned to the wall. Oh yes, he would pull that trigger. This man wasn't above bluffing, but he also wasn't above shooting girls that were more trouble than they were worth to him.

"My ship was stolen!" Junaida went on, hoping Skavak wasn't about to confess to stealing it. That would ruin her chance to pretend she hadn't guessed and still thought he was on her side, and if he could pretend to be on her side maybe she could keep him around long enough to get her ship back. Yes, it was easier if she didn't have to be angry with him. "I would have made the hand-off, but it was stolen, I was put into custody!"

"And did you give up any names?"

"How could I?" Junaida asked. "I give you up and you'll just give me right back to them again. They had no evidence. Whoever stole my ship took their evidence with them."

Skavak seemed to take stock of this new information, his eyes far away even while they followed her every move. After a few moments he removed the blaster. "Nice try," he said and took a step back. "How convenient for you to have lost the cargo. How convenient that the authorities had no evidence. I'll say, little one, you've got some courage, selling Rogun the Butcher's guns."

Junaida's heart sank. "Who?"

Skavak smiled at her. Such a winning smile. "You are new, aren't you, sweetheart? Never take a job without knowing your employer."

Junaida knew she had to cry, but it was harder than her stupid friends at the academy had made it look. How was it that they could cry to get out of trouble for borrowing daddy's credit stick when she couldn't do it to save her own life? Everything was relative. The best she could do was persuade her voice to crack. "Help me!" she whimpered, reaching out and grasping Skavak's elbow.

That was a mistake. Skavak didn't like being grabbed, and the blaster resumed its position, this time pressed to her sternum. That was a quicker kill-shot, Junaida knew, though no less painful. "Help you what?"

"Help me," she repeated. Her heart was hammering. Skavak lowered the gun again, buying the act. But it wasn't an act anymore. Junaida had finally remembered where she'd heard the name Rogun the Butcher before. "He's going to kill me," she whispered.

But Skavak was just as much a fool for weak women as Juni was for troublesome men, and that meant there was still something he could get out of her besides trouble. "I might be persuaded to help you," he said. "But I'm going to need a favor or two, first."

Junaida felt sick again. "Anything," she replied.

Skavak looked hungry, but his proposal was legitimate. That is to say, it was business. "I can keep Rogun off your trail for a little while, but I have work to do while I'm here. It's easy work, even a rookie like you could probably pull it off. You see, there are some beacons in separatist country that are keeping me grounded. If you can take them out by tomorrow morning, I'll bring you with me when I leave. I might even be able to help you find your ship."

Junaida stared. "Coordinates?"

"I'll send them to you later tonight," he assured her. "If you mess up though, little one, I'll point Rogun's dogs in your direction and never shed one tear." He leaned forward, hand slipping under Junaida's jacket and vest and sliding up her side. But Skavak's hand came to rest on her gun in its holster before unbuttoning the clasp and slipping the blaster free. Skavak smiled. He glanced at the stolen blaster, hefted it, and tucked it into the back of his trousers. "Well, maybe one tear."

Blood pounded in Junaida's ears as she watched Skavak walk away. He took a seat at one of the corner tables, next to a small woman with curled hair and a heavy soldier type with a pocked face. Gathering herself up, Junaida tried to find that confidence she'd had only a few minutes ago. The best she could do was try to remember how she'd felt. She pushed her hair out of her eyes where it had pulled free of her braid, and took a deep breath before coming down the stairs. She didn't stop at her table, but walked right past Corso and down the stairs into the restaurant without looking back. She kept walking until she reached the street. She had to wait a few minutes, but Corso finally followed.

"What was that?" he demanded.

Junaida slumped against the wall. "That was me almost getting shot by Skavak."

"You said he didn't know you," Corso pressed, nodding for her to keep walking and not hang around the door of the bar.

"Well, I was wrong!" Junaida shot back. "I was wrong about Skavak, I was wrong about my employer, I was wrong about not being dead meat right now."

"You're talking crazy talk," Corso snapped. "What is it?"

"Skavak thinks I ran off with the guns, sold them myself. Which means I'm almost certain that that's exactly what Skavak did. He's trying to frame me."

"Can't much do that without the ship," Corso pointed out. "Otherwise your plan is the worst double-cross I've ever seen."

"Obviously," Junaida drawled. "But I'm fairly certain Skavak thinks that everyone thinks I'm that stupid. And maybe I am."

"Maybe," Corso said, tentatively mocking. He'd regained a degree of humor at the bar.

"Yeah yeah yeah," Junaida said and waved him off. "So. I've asked Skavak to oh pretty please, please help me. He gave me a job. I do this job, he takes me with him on what I'm fairly certain is _my_ ship."

"After putting a bunch of holes in your corpse," Corso reminded her.

"Of course," Junaida agreed. "But Skavak thinks I'm _that_ stupid, right? So I do this job, take down some beacons so Skavak can escape, show up for the rendezvous—"

"Which _will_ be a trap."

"Yes, which will be a trap," Junaida once more agreed, "Only I _know_ it's a trap. And I take my ship back."

"You see," Corso said impatiently, "Everyone always figures if they _know_ they're walking into a trap, that it somehow changes things. It doesn't. I've got the blaster burns to prove it. And so does your father."

"But look," Junaida pleaded, "I've got a chance to get everything back! My ship, the guns, Fiver."

"Fiver?"

"My droid," Junaida explained. "I made him, sort of. If I can just pull this off, it's like I never messed up in the first place."

"And what'll you do with the guns once you get them?"

"I'll give them to Rogun the Butcher, just as planned."

Corso stopped dead in his tracks. "Say that again."

"Rogun the Butcher. He's the guy I'm doing this job for."

"Rogun the Butcher is not a _guy_, Junaida," Corso told her, and for the first time Junaida thought she saw genuine fear or anger or something in his eyes. It was worse than disappointed Corso. "He's not 'Rogun the Guy,' he's Rogun the Butcher. And he does not like screw-ups."

"No kidding, Riggs!" Junaida shouted as they approached the parcade. She glanced around self-consciously, but it was empty. "And that's why I need to un-screw this up. Screw this down. Screw it. I need to fix this, because I don't need to know Rogun's rep to know I'm dead meat if he catches me. It's in the name."

"You_ don't_ know Rogun's rep? Sith-spit, Junaida, you're a walking time bomb! How did you ever think you could make it as a smuggler?"

Junaida flushed with anger. "Shut up, Corso. I know the name sort of. From RepPol bulletins. Are you going to help me or not?"

"Hell, you know I am, Juni!" Corso shouted back as they arrived at the speeder. "Gee, Mr. Tormaris, yeah I got your daughter out of jail, but she had it in her head to go cuddle with a rancor so I let her! I made you a holo of her death! Wanna play it? I can't believe you, Junaida."

"Ho ho, he uses my full name," Junaida sang. "Not baby Juni anymore, is it?"

Corso grabbed Junaida by the shoulder and spun her around. "You _are_ a baby, Junaida. A clueless, defenseless baby playing with blaster-guns." He turned away while Junaida massaged her shoulder. After a few deep breaths Corso turned to face her again, his voice soft and calm. "I'm sorry," he said like he meant it. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Junaida replied sullenly.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper. I'm just," he let out a heavy sigh. "I don't want anything to happen to you, Juni. I've seen enough good people die, and I know you mean a lot to your parents. All kids do. I lost my parents when I was fourteen. Your parents don't need to lose you, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure they don't."

Junaida forced a smile. "Thank you, Corso." She reached for the trunk.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Skavak stole my blaster," she explained. "I was getting another one."

Corso sighed, running a hand over his eyes. "Torchy," he said mournfully. "Well, good thing I've got extra, Juni. Take your pick."

Junaida smiled. "Thanks."

"I really am sorry," Corso repeated. "I haven't slept in days. Stims will get the job done, but it's not the same."

"Then I have bad news," Junaida told him. "The job I told Skavak I'd do has to be done by morning. We need to hit some beacons."

"No it doesn't," Corso replied. "The minute those beacons go down, Skavak will be out of here. You don't want to be half-dead, exhausted from lack of sleep and battle-worn when you go to face his trap. Rule number one of privateering; you set your own schedule. When your employer needs a job done and when it's safe to do the job aren't always the same thing. Your number one priority is—take a wild guess?"

"Your own skin?"

"Excellent," Corso replied as Junaida pulled the tiny hold-out blaster from under the cloth and closed the trunk. "You're not a trooper. You don't follow chain of command. You follow your instincts. And my instincts say that if I don't get some sleep, a lot of sleep, right now, I'm going to be just as dumb as you are."

Junaida smiled.

"Sorry," Corso said for the millionth time. "I'm not usually this mean."

"It's okay," Junaida assured him. "I have thick skin."

Corso grimaced.

"And a thick skull. There! I said it so you don't have to!" Junaida teased.

Corso did manage a smile now as she started up the speeder. "That was very kind of you."


	3. Chapter 3: Doing Skavak's Dirty Work

**Chapter 3: Doing Skavak's Dirty Work**

There was hot caf in the little cottage, though Junaida didn't know where it came from or how Corso had managed to cook it on the rickety little stove in the corner of the kitchen.

"He hasn't called," Corso pointed out, worry in his voice as Junaida drained her cup and filled it again from the pot. The caf was bitter and a little sour, but it was better than nothing.

"He will," she assured him, though she couldn't say why. She _didn't_ know that Skavak would call. Maybe the job he'd asked her to do was just something he'd made up to make her go away. Or maybe he didn't plan for her to actually finish the job alive. Maybe he thought she wasn't as stupid as he ought to. Maybe he'd decided that she wasn't worth the trouble. Yes, that was it.

But then Junaida's HoloComm sounded. She motioned for Corso to be silent and switched it on. Skavak's seated image shimmered into focus on apparatus' palm-sized projector field.

"Was I not clear about the deadline for my offer?" he began abruptly. He looked relaxed. There was a glass of something in his hand, but then he set it down out of the hologram's field.

"I-I'm sorry," Junaida stuttered intentionally. "I'm working on it. I've just been having a bit of a hard time getting my hands on some hardware. You ah, took my blaster."

"How long can it take for a clever girl like you to get her hands on a blaster in a war-zone?" he asked rhetorically. "You're not the only one who doesn't want to screw over an employer. I was hired to take those beacons down. You take care of that, I take care of you. Clear?"

"Crystal," Junaida repeated and suddenly felt tired again, and she had a feeling that all the caf in the galaxy wasn't going to help.

"I want those beacons down. Yesterday."

"I'll get them," Junaida replied irritably. "I'm just...what if your contact doesn't cooperate?"

"That's what the blaster's for," Skavak told her curtly and ended the transmission.

Junaida blew on the second cup of caf to cool it down and glanced to Corso. The mercenary merely shrugged.

"I guess there's nothing to do but the job," he said casually. After six hours of sleep Corso's mood had improved exponentially. He was almost as she remembered him. Shy and boisterous all at once, chivalrous, even if he was more than just a little rough around the edges. "Any luck contacting your droid?"

"Skavak should have connected to the HoloNet to make the call," Junaida told him, "If he did it from my ship like I think he did, Fiver was probably still on board, which means if _he_ connects to the HoloNet at any point, he'll pick up my mynock-file with instructions."

"There are a lot of 'ifs' in there, especially for a droid. You seem to have a lot of faith in this Fiver."

"I programmed him," Junaida told Corso with a smirk. "In fact, I assembled most of his circuitry. It was fun summer project my parents encouraged me to do to keep me out of trouble."

"Well that worked out well," Corso remarked with rare sarcasm. "Top notch education, custom-built droid, still ends up neck-deep in rancor droppings."

Junaida shot him a withering glance. "Grab General Boom, we've got some beacon clearing to do."

"_Sergeant_ Boom," Corso corrected. "Stop flattering my blaster, little Juni."

"Stop calling me little Juni."

"Not a chance," Corso replied. He collected his rifle from the kitchen counter and began the arduous process of unlocking the manual locks on the door. There were three that locked from the inside, though Junaida didn't know why, since there was more than one hole in the roof. When they stepped out into the early morning sunshine, Corso paused. "Here," he said, beckoning for Junaida to come over. Kneeling down, he gathered up a fistful of dew-moist dirt and smudged it over Junaida's palms, cuffs, knees, and at last her face. "You clean up too nice for a mercenary," he explained.

"Why thank you, Mr. Riggs," Junaida drawled.

Corso didn't reply. The banter was over, at least for now. Pulling the tarp off the speeder, he climbed into the driver's seat and pulled a pair of goggles down over his eyes. "Repeat the plan for me?"

"We've already gone over it," Junaida protested. "It's not too complicated, is it?"

Corso shook his head. "Repeat it."

Junaida sighed. "Slip through our contacts house, down the beach, across the shallows, up the cliffs below the fort, over the wall near the west watchtower because there's an outcropping there that might shield us from sight. Once we're in the fort we should look as much like separatists as the rest. We'll stroll up to the beacons, plant the charges, leave the way we came in, and detonate them when we're at a safe distance."

"Good," Corso confirmed.

"When are you going to stop treating me like a rookie?" Junaida grumbled. "I've been in a firefight now and everything."

Corso merely shook his head and ignored her question. "I already told you—I'm not gonna be the one taking your corpse back to your dad."

"What, you think he'd shoot the messenger?"

"You think he wouldn't?" Corso chided.

Vondo Tormaris woke up in the middle of the night to find the other side of his bed empty and a light on in the 'fresher. He lay awake for a few minutes trying to track down the source of the panic in his chest, but there were too many possibilities. The light went out and his wife stepped back into the bedroom, dressed in gray-brown field robes, her hair plaited, a bag of toiletries in her hands.

"Were you going to tell me?" he asked her then immediately felt guilty. "I'm sorry, Shannin."

"I only decided I was going five minutes ago," Shannin Tormaris tried to reassure him, but Vondo's guts continued to tell him that things were bad.

"What is it?"

Shannin didn't reply. A bag was packed at the foot of the bed, into which she slid her toiletries case. It was her bug-bag. She'd been trained to keep one ready in case she needed to head out on a minute's notice. He'd tried to persuade her to stop keeping one, but she'd just hidden it. There was a blaster on the top of a bag and a shiv at her belt. This was more than just nervous preparation; a symptom of the post traumatic stress disorder she never admitted frankly to suffering from.

"Is it the old thing?" he asked softly as Shannin walked to the window and peered outside at the glittering cityscape that surrounded their little home.

"Yes," she replied.

"I thought you were supposed to be free of it. Ages ago."

"I thought so too." She was avoiding his eyes. She pulled her wedding ring off her left hand, realized what she'd done, and slid it back on. She wouldn't be going undercover this time. She was just Shannin Tormaris, now. She was one woman with all the trauma of a hundred different aliases.

"When did it start again?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean? How can you not know?" Vondo regretted letting frustration show in his voice. It wasn't her fault. It was the Empire's fault.

"It started...innocuously enough," she explained, sitting down on the foot of the bed. "To be honest I didn't notice it at first. I thought I was just remembering. And then the memories started talking back."

Vondo paced a few steps back and forth, running a tired hand through his black hair. "But I thought we fixed this."

"So did I," Shannin said again, her tone bordering on irritation. She took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Don't be cross, Vi."

"I'm not," Vondo replied, leaning against the window. The transparisteel was thick and warm to touch. "I'm really not, Shannin. This isn't your fault."

"Tell that to Juni," Shannin countered, arching her eyebrows. "When will she be coming home?"

"Home?" Vondo repeated. "I don't think she'll ever come home again, Shannin, but Corso says she's out of jail and he's putting her on the next shuttle. Assuming they don't find something to distract them on the way to the spaceport."

Shannin smiled and rose to her feet. She pulled a long black X-415 Special Ops Sharpshooter jacket from its peg by the door and pulled it over her shoulders. From the pocket she removed a pair of ultrachrome gloves and began to pull them on. "You didn't really think she'd come quietly, did you?"

"I had hoped."

"As had I. With my condition." Shannin slid her arms briefly around her husband and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back. I always am."

Vondo caught her arm and pulled her back in for a moment, pressing his face into her hair. After a moment of silence he smiled. "When you married a smuggler I bet you thought you'd be the one waking up alone in the middle of the night."

"And let you have all the fun?" Shannin teased. "Of course not. I'll be back soon, I promise. Hug Juni for me."

"I'll try," Vondo assured her and let her go.

Shannin gave him a wan smile from the doorway and then stepped out.

Their contact was some sort of academic. He kept a large, clean house in a small city in the Avitlan borderlands. There was a separatist checkpoint on the far side of the city, almost at the gates, which made it impossible for them to cross over from the city into the separatist fort where Skavak's beacons were located. However, Skavak somehow had a friend, this academic, whose house happened to have an underground exit on the far side of the checkpoint. The house had once been part of an estate, and the estate's owner had wanted beach access without having to leave their house, but proper beach-front property was all sold out. The answer, naturally, had been an underground passageway that led from the house to the beach beyond the city wall, on the other side of the then-nonexistent checkpoint, offering marina access for a fraction of the usual cost. Since the passageway had been built some hundred years previously, the rest of the estate had been shelled, and the beach-front estates that had once monopolized the best beach-front properties were burned to the ground. Skavak's academic used the passage to keep an eye on the separatist patrols. If they found out about the passage it'd have been walled up immediately or seized to be used by one side or the other.

But they hadn't found it yet.

Junaida rang the doorbell with her hand on her blaster.

"Do you know what the Republic could do with a place like this?" Corso whispered as they waited for their contact to come to the door. "How much good we could do with secret passageway past the checkpoint?"

"Not a hell of a lot, I'm guessing, because it wouldn't be a secret passageway anymore, would it?"

Corso gave her a hard look. "Five people were shot trying to cross by that checkpoint two days ago. Only one of them was a soldier."

"And five people would be shot tomorrow, because the passageway would only work once," Junaida insisted. She knew she was right, but she understood what Corso was feeling. It seemed like a waste, but this was war, and waste went hand in hand with destruction. She heard movement on the other side of the door. Juni gripped her blaster. "Better us than them."

"You don't mean that," Corso said.

The door opened a crack. A small, bespectacled man peered out at them for a second before making hurried gestures for them to come in.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed. "Coming in the front door?"

"If we could come in the back way we wouldn't need to at all, would we?" she reminded him.

The little academic looked displeased but said nothing. He relaxed a little once they came inside and shut the door behind them. Corso looked around. It was a nice house, well decorated and showed signs of considerable wealth applied pragmatically.

"How much is Skavak paying you to let us through?" he asked.

The academic shrugged, beckoning them to follow him. "Probably less than he's paying you two."

"I'd certainly hope so," Junaida drawled and put on her best swagger. Corso appeared to disapprove, even though he had hooked his thumbs through his belt and was making a show of being impressed with the place.

"You have any idea what kind of blow the government of Ord Mantell could deal the Seps with access like yours?" Corso said, climbing up onto his durasteel crate of self-righteousness.

"Who's asking?" retorted the academic warily.

"Someone who's bled more than his share to keep Ord Mantell whole."

"Corso," Junaida warned.

"Look," said the academic, leading them down a set of narrow steps. "I keep to myself. I don't do favors for anyone who can't do a favor for me. Neither the Seps nor the Republic have ever done me any favors."

"So you don't care about the hundreds of displaced families, the murdered civilians, the—"

Junaida gripped Corso's elbow tightly with one hand. "Not now," she whispered.

Corso lowered his gaze then nodded. "Fine," he replied. "Forget it, sir."

"I will," the academic replied automatically, not seeming to care enough to defend himself. "Here," he said, arriving in a small chamber at the bottom of the stairs. "On the other side of the door is a passage that leads you down to the beach. It's straight and simple, so if you don't mind I won't come with. You can't get lost."

"No, you come," Junaida insisted.

"What, you think I'd double-cross Skavak?"

"You don't need to know what I think," Junaida told him firmly. "You just need to come for a little stroll with us."

The academic looked exhausted by this request, but he agreed to go. They were just opening the door when he remembered something. "Hang on," he said, darting out of the passageway to grab something from the previous chamber. "Skavak sent me these to give you."

"Access cards?" Corso said as he inspected one of the cards. "The plan was for us to pick up a couple of these when we get into the camp."

"Skavak got his hands on a couple, I guess. Maybe he wanted to save you the trouble?"

Junaida accepted one of the cards from the academic and turned it over in her hands. "What do you think?" she asked Corso.

The mercenary shrugged and tucked the card into the pocket of his jacket. "I say we take them."

Junaida met his eyes and saw confidence in Corso's. For the moment, she decided to trust his judgment. It was almost certainly better than hers.

"Paranoid much?" the academic asked with a smile. He still seemed relaxed. That was a good sign. If he'd been fidgeting or glancing over his shoulder, Junaida would have been more than a little wary that something at the end of that tunnel was going to go bang.

"Let's go," Junaida suggested and the academic led them down the passageway. The only surprises were a few scuttling crabs and some water that had flooded the passage from the sea. Stepping over heaps of bright yellow kelp, Junaida and Corso exited the tunnel onto the rocky beach. Junaida had never really been on a beach like this. There were resort-domes on Coruscant with white sand and blue water and blue-holo skies, but somehow it didn't come close to the rugged, harsh beauty of Avitlan's coastline. The beach was a rocky field that tumbled into the sea, boulders leading out like stepping stones onto the dark water. The afternoon sky was gray, dusted by pink clouds that grew brighter as they neared Ord Mantell's orange sun, which was leaking color across the ocean from right to left of Junaida's vision. She felt a pang of regret and suddenly felt guilty for ever chiding Corso for wanting to fight for this planet. He'd been born here, raised here, then lost everything but had still come back to defend this neon skyline. Junaida wondered what it would be like to feel that closely bound to a piece of rock. She'd never felt that connection before. Not to the planet of her birth, the one she grew up on, or even Coruscant where she'd spent the longest time. If anything, she hated Coruscant for the bond she'd been forced to have with it. She envied Corso, and then she immediately felt guilty for that feeling because it had cost him so much.

"Am I free to go now?" asked the little man, not impressed with the view.

Junaida nodded and then added, "Thanks."

"No problem, anytime," the academic called unconvincingly as he disappeared back down the tunnel.

Junaida took a deep breath and focused on the parts of the view that were important now. There didn't seem to be any immediate threats. They were where they were supposed to be, and the patrols were still just out of sight. If they marched up the beach toward the separatist island's access ramp, they could blend in like an extra patrol. They were outfitted to look like the Seps, and with the access cards they ought to be able to get past any checkpoints inside the fort itself.

"We're ditching the cards and picking up new ones as soon as we can, right?" Junaida asked.

"Oh, definitely," Corso agreed. "I'm glad we're on the same screen."

"Me too."

Corso drew his rifle and carried it cocked in his arms as they marched in a slow and confident pace up the beach. "Sorry about earlier," he said. "I didn't mean to go off like that."

"No need to apologize," Junaida reassured him and meant it. "I agree with you, for what it's worth."

Corso frowned. "Then why did you argue about the passageway?"

Junaida shrugged. "I like to play Sith's advocate. Old habit."

"You always _were_ a brat of a kid," Corso told her with sideways glance.

"And you weren't?"

"No m'am," Corso replied with a smile. "I was always the good one. It kept me alive, too."

Junaida sensed a story about Corso's childhood was coming on and she didn't want to hear it. Not now that felt she understood what he was fighting for. Not now that she'd seen the devastating beauty and not just the devastated beauty of Ord Mantell. She didn't want to imagine how it felt to have a past here. She didn't want to envy Corso. Now was not the time for sentimentality. Junaida might be new to the game, but she knew that. Now was the time for cold focus.

Corso must have picked up on this, too, for he didn't go on. Instead, he surveyed the land ahead. The way was clear, and they managed to get up the access ramp that led up the rocky beach to the main entrance to Mannett Point where the Seps had taken a township in recent months and set up a fort there, but once on the main road in, there was no way to avoid the checkpoint. But they were prepared.

The IDs were little more than dog-tags stamped with a rough, flickering holo of the bearer. The patrolman barely checked to see if they resembled the grainy likeness on the ID, but waved them through. "You're bunching up again," the sentry told them. "Look how close behind you the next patrol is." She pointed.

"Sorry," Junaida said. "We're turning in now, anyway. Won't let it happen again."

"Don't," the woman agreed then let them by.

Junaida's heart was hammering. She'd never seen so many people with so many guns before in her life. It occurred to her that all of those guns would be more than happy point her way and fill her full of holes if they knew she wasn't—what was her name supposed to be again? She almost lifted her ID to check it but figured that was probably not a good idea. Her stomach churned. "Why are you letting me do all the talking?" she hissed to Corso. "Don't you remember picking me up from jail just yesterday."

Corso half smiled. "Of course I remember, I guess I'm just not used to leading. I'm a hired gun, and that means whoever's got the creds makes the calls. I just shoot things."

"Great," Junaida remarked.

"But I'll tell you this," Corso went on. "If I _were_ the guy making the calls, I'd hit the beacons at the back of the compound first."

"Why?" Junaida asked, scanning the area around them to make sure they weren't overheard. "We've got to be almost on top of the first one now."

"Sure," Corso agreed, "But say something goes wrong. You can't leave an undetonated charge on a beacon after you've been made. They'll disarm it. So you set it off early, before you get out of this fort. And then what? You head deeper into the gundark nest to set two more? No, you set the back charges first, then if something goes wrong, you detonate them, drawing attention from the checkpoint _and_ your last target so you can get out without half a dozen blaster-holes in your ass."

Junaida stopped to consider and then agreed. "You've got a point."

"I learned from the best," Corso replied. "Of course, your father would have also pointed out that protocol usually is to lock down the compound when there's a breach, but these Seps have never been great with protocol."

Junaida felt a pang of homesickness but pushed it down as they squeezed by a throng of seemingly drunken separatist soldiers cheering for one of their fellows to show off her tattoo. The woman, a Twi'lek, blushed, shouted, and refused to comply.

"Think that tattoo's somewhere embarrassing?" Junaida joked.

Corso shot her a sceptical, disapproving smile. "That, or it's a tattoo of one of their names and she doesn't want them to know." He shook his head. "Still, they should leave her alone."

The Twi'lek pulled out a blaster and shot a bolt in the air. "Back off!" she yelled to uproarious laughter, but the move seemed to work and the crowd dispersed. Junaida and Corso hurried by. She could more than take care of herself.

"So what kind of a location are we looking at for our first target?" Corso asked.

"The first one's farther back, but you want to leave that one for last. The next is supposed to be behind a cantina," she explained. "Or on a cantina. Or on whatever's behind a cantina. The maps Skavak sent me were a little pixilated. "

Corso sighed.

"What?"

"Nothing," he lied.

Deeper into the fort there were fewer soldiers milling about, all but in front of the cantina, where there was a small group of them passing around a smoker and talking in low tones. They two were able to slip by without much notice, but when they entered the alley behind the cantina, Junaida's heart sunk. The beacon was built into the side of the cantina, about ten meters above their heads. The cantina was a smooth durasteel bunker, so they'd have to use the building across the alley to climb up to it to fix the charges. They were close, but not quite chimney-close.

"Damn, I wish we had drones for this," Junaida sighed.

"You're one of them," Corso teased. "I'll boost you." Shouldering his gun, Corso got down on one knee and made a stirrup out of his hands for Junaida to stand in. Once she was up, balancing a hand on his shoulder, Corso stood up and boosted Junaida over his head and onto the first narrow ledge on the opposite building. From there, Junaida shimmied over to a drain pipe and tentatively clambered up.

"You want me to follow?"

"Nah," Junaida called back breathlessly. "Run defense."

"You got it, Captain," Corso replied.

Once she reached the height the beacon was at, Junaida stalled. The gap between buildings in the narrow alley suddenly looked a lot higher than she had anticipated. She didn't know if she could make the jump. She cast about for some sort of plank or rope and found nothing.

"If I die," she called down to Corso, "Tell my parents it was suicide."

"Isn't it?" Corso teased, but Junaida was already winding up, gathering momentum and pitching herself across the void.

She made a three-point touch-down on the other side; that is, ribs, elbow, hip. She felt a crack and all the wind go out of her, but one hand was caught around the base of the beacon, and she managed to swing the second hand up.

"For the love of..." she began gasping for breath as she tried without much success to pull herself up. Instead, Junaida fished around in her pocket for the charge and tried to pretend that she was hanging casually from the branch of a beautiful tree over a pool of warm water, that she wasn't the least bit tired, that her grip was not slipping, and that she had all the time in the world.

She managed it, but just barely. After setting the first charge and arming it with trembling fingers, she pocketed the remote and let go. But the fall was not nearly as bad as she had anticipated, because Corso caught her. She lost her wind for the second time before he set her down on her knees.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern in his voice.

Junaida nodded, gasping for breath. "I will be," she rasped eventually, climbing to her feet and adjusting the heavy braid of hair that had started to come out of its pins. She fussed over it for a second, then turned to Corso. "Next?"

"Right," Corso nodded, glancing to the opposite end of Mannett Point. "Next target?"

"On the roof of a warehouse," she said confidently. "We'll have to get inside and go up. I'm not wall-jumping any more today."

"Let's hope that's as easy as it sounds."

"Probably want to pick up new IDs on the way."

"Roger that," Corso agreed. "We should be able to get inside, and then find someone unsuspecting to club and rob."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Let's do it."

The road to the warehouse was packed with patrols. Corso looked suspicious and Junaida just felt sore. Her injuries were stacking up. If she didn't take some serious time off, soon, she was going to be a corpse. _At least it wasn't another concussion_, she said as she gingerly touched her ribs. They didn't feel broken, but they didn't feel good, either.

"It's better if you do the talking, I think," Corso told Junaida. "I sound like a local and that's well and good, but this place is crawling with Imperials."

"Imperials?" Junaida whispered back. "Where?"

Corso smirked. "Just listen to the voices," he told her. "They've got a certain way of talking."

"Like there's a stick up their backsides?" Junaida asked.

"Well, a little strained like that, yeah, I guess so," Corso agreed. "But well, you talk that way sometime, now don't you?"

Junaida glowered. "Only when impersonating my mother," she drawled. "She was Imperial Intelligence before she came over."

"I know who your mother is," Corso told her in that sing-song, knowing tone he seemed to reserve for chiding her. "What I'm saying is, if we can pick you up an Imperial ID, you talk the talk, and we stroll right up to that beacon. None of the locals are gonna mess with an Imp."

"What would the Imps be doing here?" she asked.

Corso cocked an eyebrow. "It's called proxy-war, little Juni. They're backing the Seps. Where else do you think sons of wampa beasts like the Seps got their hands on this kind of hardware?"

Junaida shrugged. "I guess I figured it wasn't my business. Okay, it's show time."

They arrived at the warehouse and much to their surprise, found the doorway unguarded. There was no security, no ID verification; nothing. Junaida had a bad feeling.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Corso murmured. "You don't leave millions of credits of arms unguarded like this."

"Unless there aren't any arms in the warehouse," Junaida suggested, walking boldly across the room to an arms crate and knocking the lid off. Inside was only packing material and an errant scope. "They must be keeping the goods somewhere else. Good thing that's not what we came for."

Corso didn't look convinced. "Seps and hardware are bad news no matter where you store them," he told her. Junaida heard a tone in his voice that she hadn't heard before, but Corso merely nodded to her and motioned for her to lead the way.

Junaida proceeded with caution. They crossed the empty warehouse floor and went up an access ramp to the second floor. There was nothing here either, but there was the window at the back of the room which could provide much needed roof access.

"Stand back," Corso told her, approaching the window.

"That's transparisteel!" Junaida cut in before Corso could fire on the window.

But instead of firing he rammed the butt of his gun into the window. The material cracked, and after two more blows finally gave way. "Nothing Sergeant Boom can't handle," he explained cheerfully. "This isn't my first nerf-muster, Juni."

Junaida nodded. "I never thought it was."

"Listen," Corso said, "Let me take this one. You're a little off your game."

"When aren't I?"

Corso ignored the comment. "Recuperate a minute or two. If anyone comes along, shoot first, ask questions later. There are no good guys in here. Except us, of course."

"Are you sure? I'm a pretty smooth talker."

"Trust me," Corso drawled, shouldering his rifle and climbing into the window-frame. "It always ends in blasting, one way or another."

"Signal me if you need help up there," Junaida said.

"Don't worry about me," Corso told her with a boyish grin, and then disappeared out the window. Junaida found herself alone in the empty weapons depot. For a few minutes it was deadly still and Junaida thought of sitting down on the floor. More than anything, she wanted to curl up on the ground, maybe even close her eyes for a second. But then she heard hurried footsteps from the hallway and she fought her way out of her cloud of fatigue. She spun to face the doorway, hand on her blaster.

"What's happened?" a man in local Separatist gear minus the usual Separatist dust demanded.

"Broken window!" Junaida replied. "I just came to check it out."

"Well?"

"Seems to have been broken from the inside," she replied and then decided to take a guess. "Maybe during packing."

"During packing?" the man snapped. "What packing? The alarm went off no more than five minutes ago. How long have you been here for?"

Junaida's heart skipped a beat. Alarm? "I wasn't given the details."

But she was made. The man took a tentative step toward her, hand moving to his pistol. "Show me your ID, soldier."

Junaida pulled her blaster out of its holster, leveled it at the man, and fired.

The bolt caught him square in the throat, burning right through. The man's gun clattered to the duracrete floor, his body following a second later with a thud and gurgle of one last breath trying to sneak out the ruined airway. Junaida's stomach churched and before she could stop it she was sick, and turned into the wall to empty the meager contents of her stomach. Down the hall she heard boots pounding again, multiple sets this time.

But before they reached her Corso was in the window again. "Come on," he urged her. "I signaled, didn't you hear?"

Junaida didn't reply. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, spat, and clambered into the window, shuffling along the ledge. She was certain she was going to slip, but somehow didn't. Before she could fully realize where they were headed, Corso pulled her onto the roof by one shoulder.

"Easy," he urged. "I need you to be here right now, Juni. Are you here?" He squatted in front of her and forced her to meet his eyes.

Junaida nodded.

"Good," Corso replied. "We can get back to the other beacon from up here. I signaled you, but I guess you were busy making friends."

Junaida felt sick again.

"Hey, hey," he said quickly, steadying Junaida. "First kill is always hard."

Junaida nodded. "I hoped I wouldn't have to."

"Sometimes you have to," Corso explained. "Now that you're a part of the club, when you don't mind giving it away that you're carrying, you should really have a hip holster. Faster draw."

"Yeah," Junaida agreed. "I felt that."

"Good, now follow me."

Junaida followed Corso across the roof at a brisk jog. They had already wasted time. She had wasted time. She was green and soft and terrified and disgusted and it was her fault if they ran out of time and were gunned down by scrambled security. At the edge of the roof Junaida could see where the building butted up against a couple of the lower buildings. They could flee across the roofs a little ways before they'd have to come down to the main street. Junaida wasn't sure which route would expose them to more enemy attention, but she knew well enough to trust Corso.

"Before we drop down, there's something I want you to see," Corso told her, nodding toward the far side of the building. Down below through the narrow streets Junaida could see a large boxy groundcar ambling down toward a square building with a roof landing pad.

"We're at an empty weapons warehouse, but they've got to keep their guns somewhere. What if they've moved them?"

"I don't think so," Junaida replied. "Something I found out accidentally. I don't think they packed up the guns and moved them anywhere. I think they're out."

"Out?" Corso repeated. "Separatists don't run out of guns. Trust me."

"Of course they don't," Junaida agreed. "If they found themselves running low on gear they'd put an order in. And where do you get guns from when you're an illegal separatist movement and you suddenly run out?"

Corso's eyes widened. "You don't think..."

"Yes I do," Junaida cut in. "You could land my ship on that warehouse roof no problem and unload lots of pretty new guns."


	4. Chapter 4: Heroics

**Chapter 4: Heroics**

"Don't forget we've still got charges to set," Corso reminded Junaida as they crept along the rooftop of the building below the warehouse. The wind was picking up, and it helped to clear Junaida's head. That, along with the stim Corso gave her before their jump.

"I won't" she assured him, breathing deep. "Damn I feel great. Like I just slept for twelve hours, ran for an hour, then had a pot of caf and a great meal. Don't tell my dad though."

"Tell him what?" Corso asked, glancing backward from his position as point in their two-man formation.

"About the stims," Junaida replied, peering over the railing to her right. "I don't think he'd approve."

"Are you kidding?" Corso laughed. "It's not like your dad never took them himself. I don't know anyone who's been in combat for real who hasn't. Maybe some purists; alien traditionalist clans or something."

"You'll have to tell me some stories when we get my ship back," Junaida told him.

Corso chuckled. "I like your confidence, Juni, just don't get your hopes up. Which reminds me, what exactly do you plan on doing with these guns once we find them. If this is the shipment you were supposed to transport after all."

"I'll figure that out later," Junaida assured him.

"Should we drop down to the street?"

"No," Junaida replied. "Best to stay high. Do you agree?"

"Theoretically, but I still don't know what you're planning to do."

"Trust me."

"You know I don't," Corso replied, but Junaida was already taking lead, keeping a low profile but moving quickly along the edge of the roof.

"We're going to do some heroics," Junaida told him.

"As nice as that _sounds_, I'm picturing us dead right now."

"Come on Corso, don't you want to kick the bad guys where it hurts?"

Corso looked uncomfortable, but his eyes were bright and he nodded eventually.

"We're going to find those guns and stop the Seps from using them. This is me saying thank you."

Corso grimaced. "You've got a funny way of doing that, Juni," he grumbled, then fixed the young smuggler with a hard stare. "If we get into trouble you follow _my_ lead, got it? I don't care if I said I don't like to be in charge."

"Of course," Junaida promised. "Ready?"

"Ready."

It took some backtracking, a few narrow leaps and one makeshift bridge, but they eventually made it over to the site the van was heading for. By then the groundcar had disappeared into the small building, which looked like it might have been a hospital once before shrapnel tore out its windows and pocked its sides. Most of the windows were boarded up, but Junaida and Corso were able to follow an eaves-trough over to one of them and peer through the gaps in the slats to discover the small room inside was empty. Corso kicked the wood in, and they ducked inside and pulled the boards back up after them.

"Much easier than transparisteel," Corso declared.

Junaida scanned the room. It was dusty and empty, and the door hung off its hinges. When they stepped out into the hall they found themselves in an equally dusty corridor overlooking the main warehouse floor. Maybe the separatists had needed the main warehouse to store their weapons when times were good, but the crates of arms that took up the floor of this one were meager.

So meager, they could easily be stored in the compartments of an XS Stock Light Freighter like Junaida's.

"Those have got to be mine," she hissed. "Damn Skavak, any money says he's sold them to the Seps and is trying to pin it on me."

"That scum," Corso grumbled. "Juni, what exactly to you plan to do now? You can't exactly steal them back."

"I dunno," Junaida replied. "Maybe I could take some holos, send them to the boss."

"To Rogun the Butcher?"

"Yeah, prove that whoever stole them from me sold them on planet. I don't exactly have the muscle to take back guns from gunmen and then haul them back to the spaceport where I no longer have a ship waiting, but he might."

"I think you're misunderstanding just who Rogun the Butcher is," Corso warned. "He's not the kind of guy who goes through the trouble of getting back the goods someone else lost. He'll send a hit, and that'll be that."

Junaida's stomach churned and she knew he was right. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Take your holos," Corso instructed, surveying the warehouse. The crates of guns were stashed all together in a neat little cube in the centre of the warehouse below, except for one crate, which was being loaded onto a hover-skid and signed for by a Separatist leader with brass buttons on his dirty brown overcoat. "It's your best shot, however slim."

Junaida nodded and fumbled for the recorder in her pocket. It was a small device, a tiny drone that she'd only ever used before to take group photos of herself and her school friends when no one was on hand to do it for them. She programmed the drone to focus on the weapons, and sent in over the railing they were crouched behind. After a few nerve-wracking minutes the drone reappeared. Junaida checked the footage. She had serial numbers, makes and models of the contents, markings on the crates. It was probably more than enough to get her off the hook if she'd been working a legitimate job.

But what Corso said rang true. Rogun the Butcher, whoever he was, didn't earn his nickname or his wealth by taking, "Sorry, not my fault, see?" as an answer. But now she had something at least. She had hope. She had proof that she was innocent.

Taking a deep breath, Junaida turned to her companion. "And now the hard part."

Corso's brown eyes seemed brighter than usual. For the first time Junaida noticed the scarring on just one half of Corso's face like he'd stood next to something as it blew up. She wondered if she should have asked by now. Now wasn't the time, that was for sure.

"We've got one charge left," he said softly.

"Use it," she replied. "Those beacons were smaller than I thought they'd be. Nothing a little blaster fire can't solve."

Corso nodded, and whatever tenseness had overcome his features vanished.

"But how do we get down there to plant the charge?" Junaida asked.

"There's no easy way to do it," Corso said, peering over the rail again. They were on the second level of the warehouse, looking down on the open loading bay. The door was on the far side opposite them, and there was a ramp running down towards it to their right. "Now this is where you do as I say," Corso instructed. "Our best shot is for one of us to go in blasting, draw them over to the ramp here. There's a bit of cover up here and on the ramp. If we're lucky they'll leave their backs unguarded and whoever stays up here can pick them off from above."

"You draw them out, I'll pick them off," Junaida said. "I'm a good shot, Corso, I'm just green."

Corso patted Junaida on the shoulder. "I've also got the bigger gun. You think you can hit from up there with that little blaster?"

"I've been practicing on tin cans for years," Junaida assured him. "I had a friend with a little place on Alderaan. We used to snipe cans off of trees for weeks every year in the summer."

"Tell me all about it as soon as we're done," Corso said. "Make your shots quick. Wait until they're all drawn out. I can hold up under fire for a little bit. One shot per target. Line them up and knock them down."

"Only way I know how," Junaida drawled with a wink. There wasn't enough time to think about killing again. She knew if she did she'd be sick, and she could still taste acid in her mouth from the last time. Feeling didn't help, so she turned off that part of herself, or she tried to, anyway, and she focused on the task at hand as though it were as simple as shooting tin cans off a fence.

Corso didn't look reassured. "All right then, let's do this." He moved quickly down the semi-covered access ramp. The Separatists didn't see him until he was at the bottom of the ramp, but by then he had opened fire on the officer checking the contents of his skid and the two foot-soldiers helping him out. They all went down in a matter of seconds. Junaida saw their bodies hit the ground, but she wasn't supposed to think about that. Not now.

From the far side of the warehouse came more of them rushing in, hoisting guns and falling into position in a neat little line, couched behind vehicles, crates; whatever cover they could find. Was there a door there? No, just some benches. Was that all of them?

Their cover didn't protect them from Junaida, who they had yet to notice. From the platform above them she raised her gun, steeled herself, and thought of tin cans. She'd shot a bird once on a dare and hadn't been able to sleep for days. One, two three, went down with a blaster bolt in their backs, and then she started taking fire as well. Caught between Junaida and Corso, the Separatists scrambled for cover, but there was none to be found. If they were going to win, they'd need backup.

"The door!" Junaida shouted, glancing the door at the bottom of the ramp.

Corso followed her glance. Outside, a few passing patrols had stopped, trying to determine whether or not that blaster fire they heard was from someone testing out the new gear or from actual combat.

"A little help, here?" Corso called back.

Junaida abandoned her position on the platform and sprinted down the ramp. They would lose the high ground, but that wouldn't help if Separatist backup came in that door. She picked off a gunner trying to get a shot in on Corso's unprotected flank, and raced down to the doorway. Now it was Corso turn to keep them off of her. She heard the hammering of repeater fire as Corso took them out one after another. She slammed the panel and he bay door came down with a heavy thud, but Junaida couldn't find any way to lock it that a simple pass-code couldn't over ride.

"When it doubt," she murmured, blasting the control panel open and hoping the wiring was fused enough that the panel on the other side wouldn't work either. Spinning around, she leveled her blaster at a Sep emerging from cover on the far side of the warehouse and brought him down with a single shot to the head. The Separatist beside him took a volley to the shoulder but didn't die. Down was down, though.

"Plant the charge, I'll keep them off you," Corso instructed as Junaida hurried to join him behind a stack of empty grates at the bottom of the ramp.

"Got it," Junaida replied, vaulting onto the block of arms crates. She could place the charge on the side, but they needed to be sure the only thing the separatists would be able to use these guns for would be as clubs. She placed the charge in the center of the block and took a graze in the process, right across the back of the neck. Junaida felt her hair single and shrivel and her neck burn. She armed the detonator, set the time, and jumped away.

"Thirty seconds," she told Corso.

Corso's eyes widened for a second and then he nodded. "Up!" he shouted, and Junaida led the way up the ramp again. She lanced a flurry of bolts over her shoulder as they fled, but didn't hit anything.

"There's no way they can disarm it in time," she shouted.

Corso nodded, apparently satisfied, and they hurried back the way they'd come. Up the ramp, along the second level platform, and into the empty room. Corso kicked the boards off the window, but this time they didn't bother to nail it back up. The charge wouldn't exactly take out the whole building, but in the aftermath the Seps would probably not be trying to figure out how someone could have gotten in. The time for delicate work was over. Now they just needed to get the last beacon and get out. Alive, preferably.

As they raced back along the rooftops, Junaida found Corso lagging behind.

"Corso?" she called.

"Sorry," Corso called back, but Junaida noticed his hand pressed to a dark, wet stain beside his left knee. "Just a graze, come on, we need to go."

"Tie it up first," she ordered, holstering her blaster and removing her scarf. It was singed, too, having offered poor protection from the shot that had nearly killed her. She tore a strip from it with greater effort than the holo-vids ever made it look like, then bundled another strip of under it as a makeshift compress.

"You're bleeding, too," Corso remarked, peering over her shoulder at the back of her neck. "Your dad's going to kill me."

"Not if you bleed to death here," Junaida teased. She wound what was left of her scarf around her own neck and forced a smile. "See? Good as new."

Corso grimaced.

The charge went off.

The whole street shook. Junaida unclipped her blaster. "All right, Mr. Riggs. Let's get this done."

They dropped down to the street via a drain pipe near the checkpoint, which was in chaos. Unfortunately for them, chaos meant full lock-down, and they now had a beacon sitting right under the checkpoint that they needed to take out the old fashioned way.

"What's the plan?" Junaida asked.

"Speeder's supposed to be hidden just other side of the cliff there, right?" Corso confirmed. "It's a bit of a drop, but nothing we can't survive."

Junaida grimaced. "Shoot and run?"

"As much as I don't like it, we're in no shape for a standoff," Corso agreed. "Here's to nothing," he said and they rounded the corner.

The beacon was on the side of a big solar power transformer, placed more for height than anything else. They wouldn't have been able to shimmy up and discretely plant a charge anyway. Just as well that they were doing this the messy way. The beacon was unguarded still, but a huddle of soldiers with very big guns stood just around the corner. Corso did the honors, riddling the beacon with blaster bolts until it was little more than twisted metal, and then they ran. Junaida struggled to keep pace with Corso despite his injury. They sprinted past the checkpoint, zigzagging, occasionally returning fire, and ducking under whatever cover they could find to evaluate their path. Junaida took a shot to the calf, but it didn't tear the muscle much, and she kept on running. She felt tired and weak. The stims weren't going to be enough.

And then they were at the cliffs.

Corso was right, it was a short drop. Healthy people could survive it easily, but neither Corso nor Junaida were exactly at their best. Junaida landed on her feet and rolled, and she heard Corso grunt in pain. Blaster fire was coming at them from above now, but Corso was reaching into the dirt before them, but the dirt was a blanket, and under the blanket was a rusty yellow speeder.

"Well done, Skavak," Junaida hissed as she climbed into the speeder. It was a moment or two before she realized that she was in the driver's seat. Corso passed her a helmet.

"If he's sabotaged the speeder we're dead meat," Corso hissed, pulling a helmet over his own head.

"Then we'd better hope he likes me better alive than dead," Junaida countered. The key was in the ignition. She took hold of the paddles and kicked the vehicle to full throttle ahead. The speeder responded eagerly, leaping up from the ground and catapulting them out of the rain of blaster-fire, down a short ravine, and then onward down the beach toward freedom.


	5. Chapter 5: Recuperation and Rewards

**Chapter 5: Recuperation and Rewards**

Junaida was lying on the bed in Corso's sister's old room, a kolto pack on her neck and another on her calf, when the stims wore off and she bottomed out hard. It was a physical as well as emotional drain, like a plug had just been pulled and everything that had ever held her up came rushing out from under her, leaving her empty and deflated. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she'd gotten herself into his position until Corso came in with a cup of caf.

He was in as rough shape as she was but hardly looked it. There was a kolto pack strapped to his knee, and another to his wrist under a field splint where he had broken it in the leap over the cliffs, but he looked to be in good spirits. He was still covered in blood and dirt and he was favoring the broken wrist, but there was light in his dark eyes, and his shoulders weren't as tense as when he'd picked her up from prison. He pulled up a chair and set the caf down on the bedside table. From his breast pocket he removed two small yellow pills.

"Here," he said, setting them down beside the caf. "I remember when I first started using stims," he said in a grave and comforting tone. "Your dad took me aside and told me before what was going to happen. He said that when the effects wear off, you're going to feel the worst you've ever felt in your life. You're going to want to cry or kill yourself, but you gotta know that it's just the stims, and you've got to be a man. Now, you don't have to be a man, Juni, cause after all you are a lady, but you _do_ have to know that it's just the stims. And it wears off. When you've been taking them regular for a long time like I have, or your dad has, or anybody that's in the business, you don't bottom out so hard. But at the start it's bad, and that's what the yellow pills are for."

Junaida sat up and readjusted the position of the kolto pack on her neck. "What do they do?" she asked, accepting the yellow pills from Corso and washing them down with a sip of hot, bitter caf. They tasted sweet and light.

Corso smiled his shy, even, farm-boy smile. "Not a damn thing, but they remind you of this talk we're having right now. I keep some with me for when I haven't used in a while, in case I forget."

Junaida forced a small smile and tried to take Corso's words to heart. She tried to picture her father sitting down with a young Corso Riggs, face still unscarred, handing him yellow sugar pills and telling him everything was going to be all right, and then putting another blaster in his hands and telling him it was time to get moving. She felt homesick. No, wait, she just felt sick.

Corso got to his feet and stretched. "We should probably meet this Skavak fellow sometime soon," he said. "Before he figures out what Fiver's done to his ship. _If_ Fiver pulled through after all."

Junaida nodded, then forced a small smile. "My ship," she corrected.

From the hallway she heard Corso chuckle.

Junaida took a deep breath and cradled the caf in her lap and wondered what her father would do if he found out Corso was reusing his speeches. He'd probably just laugh. Junaida smiled a little and felt warm. She was going home soon.

* * *

By evening, Junaida felt more level, though her heart still seemed to beat from somewhere around gut-level. She left Skavak three holo-messages and waited restlessly for a reply. For a nerve-wracking hour she thought that maybe Fiver's sabotage hadn't worked, that they were really stranded now, and that Skavak had double-crossed them, and they were in deep, deep grazer dung. _Only now we've got the bruises to prove it._

Junaida winced at her usage of the word _we_, even if it was only in her thoughts. She had started of thinking of herself and Corso as a team, which was a far cry from the truth. Corso had been sent to get her out of jail. Anything after that was his bad luck. When this was all done with, he would return to his little war, and she would go back to being the oldest daughter of a middle-class ex-smuggler and former Imperial spy, destined to forever wander the middle-class cocktail bars of Coruscant, making polite middle-class conversation about unimportant legislation, music, and the latest holodramas until she caught the eye of some senator or executive and they either offered her a job a wedding ring, or both. That's what her parents wanted for her. That's what all good middle-class Coruscanti parents wanted for their children.

But her parents weren't really middle-class _or_ from Coruscant. They'd come from far away, and had already lived lives of very non-middle-class danger and excitement. Now though, life on Coruscant to them was a relaxing vacation after long years of more fulfilling adventures. Somehow it seemed unfair to deny Juni these adventures, especially when she knew there was so much out there waiting for her to experience it.

And she'd survived so far, hadn't she?

_Only barely_.

And others hadn't been so lucky. How many people had she killed today. One. Two, three and four all in a go. Five. And a half? Did it count if the guard had bled out later, or was it the intention that counted? Did it matter how many she killed, after that first one? How was she supposed to feel now? She didn't feel anything. She'd done what she had to. That knowledge felt like a shield to her, and after all, what had Corso said? "There aren't any good guys in here." It was okay to feel nothing now. Just for now, though. Right now, not being overwhelmed by feeling was a good thing. Later though, would it be the opposite? She'd find out then.

Junaida hit the refresher station and changed out of her bloodstained Separatist gear into comfortable leggings, a cowl-necked shirt and a brocaded tunic. They were the nicest clothes Corso's sister had owned, and Junaida felt bad about putting them on. She wondered when the last time Gia Riggs had worn them? Before the war? They were a bit loose, but otherwise fit well. The holster Junaida strapped to her hip was a hand-me-down from Corso, and she clipped in the slender little blaster he'd also given her, and pulled on the her old, scuffed up boots. They were the only thing she had left now that belonged to her. She could get more use out of her dirty clothes if she ever managed to get the blood out, but she didn't want to. That wasn't how she was raised, and she felt weak and greedy when she looked at herself in the mirror and wanted to always wear clothes as nice and fresh as these ones.

There was one last thing. Junaida leaned on the counter in front of the 'fresher's small, undamaged mirror and combed her freshly washed hair over her shoulder. It was so long, ragged now from having been severed and singed by the blaster-bolt. She found a pair of shears in the med-kit and began to clip her hair off at jaw-length, short enough that it didn't brush her shoulders and get in the way, but long enough that she could pull it back if she had too. She tossed the hair in the incinerator, and for a moment she smelled battle again, and then the incinerator shut off and a vaguely floral scent flooded the room.

"There's a hole in the ceiling but the incinerator in the 'fresher still works," Junaida mumbled to herself, turning her head and inspecting her new haircut. She was no stylist, and her friends at the academy would have been appalled that she would dare to cut her own hair without even a droid present. Naturally this thought made Junaida rather happy, and she brushed off her shoulders and flashed herself a smile in the mirror.

When she stepped out, she was pleased to see Corso do a double take.

"Are you ready to head out?" he asked neutrally, but she watched him straighten the cuffs on the fresh shirt he'd changed into, which may have been free from dirt and stains but was otherwise identical to the rough cotton thing he'd been wearing before.

"Yep," Junaida replied cheerfully, running a comb through her hair. The cut wasn't bad after all. With a little makeup she could hold her own in a bar on Coruscant, but that wasn't the point of this outfit. She had a part to play. "We should arrive separately," she told Corso as she checked her reflection one last time in a cracked mirror beside the door. "You should get there first; ask around for a pilot like last time. Anyone watching will think you're just up to try your luck a second time. I'll arrive a few minutes later to meet Skavak. He replied to my messages, finally, and agreed to meet me at the same place as last time. I'm not sure if this is a good sign or not, but I'm going to take it. You don't mind, do you?"

Corso shook his head slowly. "I said I'd follow you into a war-zone, I'll follow you into a bar, I just don't see why it's better not to be seen together."

Junaida smiled. "It's always best to keep your cards under the table," she explained. "I'm going to try a different approach first."

"What do you mean, different?"

"A non-violent approach," Junaida explained, and stepped aside to let Corso begin unlocking the door. "Don't be alarmed, but I'm going to try to seduce Skavak."

* * *

It went without saying that Corso did not approve of Junaida's plan. Even Junaida doubted it would work for very long, but it didn't have to. She couldn't pass up the opportunity to play a part that she was certain would be potentially effective on Skavak; the part of the stupid, inexperienced smuggler girl, desperately in search of her ship—or any harbor in the storm of bantha fodder she'd oh so naively gotten herself into. It wasn't a difficult part to play. In fact, it was hardly a part at all. All of it was true, but Junaida was aware of this, and which was the sole, significant difference between the act and reality. She hoped it counted as much as she thought it did.

Junaida waited at the bar anxiously, sipping a glass of something blue that went by the name "Smuggler's Luck", which on Coruscant was a completely different drink altogether. She tried not to look at Corso, who was deep in conversation with a Rattataki man who kept tugging on the large, golden earring in his left ear like it was some sort of less-than-subtle code.

Skavak appeared in the doorway suddenly. He saw her but paused next to another table to exchange a few words and some brotherly shoulder-slapping with a cyborg dining alone. After that he slid onto the stool next to Junaida and sized her up. Junaida didn't blush. If she were the person she was supposed to be, she would be much too frightened to blush.

"I hear you got the job done," Skavak began softly. "I'm impressed. I didn't think you could manage it." He paused. "But I'm glad."

Junaida did blush this time. Skavak had ordered a drink and met her eyes over the rim of the glass. He had very nice eyes. "I'm capable enough," Junaida replied. "What about our agreement?"

"You did your part, I know," he began. "Thanks to you, my work here on Ord Mantell is finished. In return, I did my best to keep Rogun's hounds off your trail. I even incurred some personal injury for you when some of Rogun's best ambushed me in the hangar bay where I keep my ship." Skavak rolled up his sleeve to reveal a half-healed blaster burn just below his elbow. "They're dead now, but they won't stop coming after you. Rogun always has more bounty hunters to send. They'll come after me for a bit, which will keep you safe, but pretty soon they're going to figure out that I'm not their guy, and then they'll be back on your trail." Skavak set his drink down and gave Junaida the phantom of a smile. "As far as I'm concerned, I've more than repaid you already."

Junaida's eyes widened.

"But," Skavak cut in hurriedly. "I like you," he said, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on the back of her neck, inspecting the freshly healed blaster burn there. "I have no interest in seeing you die, little one. I can even protect you," he offered, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. "But not here. There's a shuttle leaving for Coruscant in two hours. Get on it. Meet me on Coruscant. There's a cantina there I like. I'll send you the details via holo later. Once we're there you and I can work something out. But not a minute sooner. Does that sound fair?"

Junaida's brain was fighting with itself. Half of her mental energy was busy analysing the risks and the odds and the myriad of possible ways Skavak already had and probably would sell her out in the future. The other half was analyzing all the possible meanings of the phrase "work something out." She blinked, forced those thoughts away, and nodded.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you Skavak, thank you." He voice was thin and wavering. She hoped she wasn't overplaying it.

"Don't worry about it," Skavak told her, tossing a few credit chips on the bar for his drink and hers. "As much as I'd love to stay and spend time with you, the window those beacons gave me to get off this stinking rock is about to close, so I need to break atmo right away, but I'll see you on Coruscant."

This time when Skavak placed his hand on her side it was only to pull her closer, and this time he did kiss her. It was a soft kiss; hardly what she was expecting, but that was probably the point. He was playing a game with her, too, after all. A less desperate game upon which his life didn't depend, but a game all the same. His mouth was cool and tasted like the sugar from his drink. Junaida tried not to show it, but somehow she was disappointed. She waved slowly to Skavak as he left and took up her seat at the bar. She ordered another drink and tried not to let herself doubt. That wouldn't help her now.

Corso drove her back to the house in silence. He looked tired. Junaida felt tired. She knew that tonight wasn't going to be the end of things, but maybe on some level she had hoped that Skavak would just give her ship back and leave her alone.

Of course not.

And from here on in she'd be going alone.

Junaida glanced at Corso as they pulled around the rocky wall that shielded Corso's sister's little house from the strong Ord Mantellian winds and wondered if it would be going too far to ask Corso to come with her. He'd helped her out of love for her father so far, but there was only so much trouble you could ask of a man before it became imposing. Junaida didn't want to impose on him.

At the house she gathered up her meagre possessions, changed back into her own clothes, washed her face and made the bed in the spare room. When she came out Corso was sitting at the table in the kitchen with a glass of cloudy water. He said nothing.

"Was she older or younger, your sister?" Junaida asked, sitting down in a chair by the heater.

"Older," Corso replied with a curt nod. "By five years. She got married a few years before and bought this house for a bargain. The front lines were a lot farther away then. There were only a few Separatists, and nobody took them serious much. We were wrong."

Junaida nodded. She wanted to ask more, but she didn't want to pry. She decided to remain silent.

"They didn't die here or anything," he told her. "They were both fighters. They volunteered to help keep the Seps back. They would have made great parents." He glanced up at Junaida. "I never thought it, but your parents raised you well—no, wait let me explain."

Junaida smiled wryly and rolled her eyes theatrically.

"Look, when I knew your father I thought I was all grown up," Corso began. "I saw him as an older brother and he let me, because he already had you to worry about, and he was terrified. Your mom wasn't around and here he was, a wanted criminal in most parts with nothing but an unofficial amnesty order from the Republic keeping him out of jail. Somehow, not only did he manage to keep me out of trouble, but he raised you all right too. No matter who you kiss."

Junaida laughed. "Please, it was an act."

"Of course it was," Corso teased and cracked a smile. "Look, your mom sent me a message asking me to stick with you until you're clear of whatever trouble you're in with Rogun, but she didn't have to. I know you think you know everything you need to know about this side of the law, but you don't. Nobody does. Not even your dad. You're going to need someone to watch your back."

Junaida felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "My mother knows I'm in trouble with Rogun?" she asked.

"Don't ask me how," Corso deflected.

"Well, you, she and everyone are right," Junaida grumbled. "I _do_ need help and I _do_ know how much trouble I'm in, so thanks." She paused. "Do you wanna pack a bag?"

"Way ahead of you," Corso replied. "I'd actually like to get to the spaceport early and check out this shuttle that Skavak found for you. Anything that bag of scum thinks is appropriate has got to have a catch."

"You sound like you know him?" Junaida asked, getting up from the table and following Corso part of the way to the second bedroom while he fetched his bag.

"I do," Corso called back from inside. "Well, by name, anyway. He sells stuff to the troops. Not always to the good guys, either."

"That's the business," Junaida pointed out.

"It's not business to me," Corso reminded her gently.

"Sorry," Junaida replied, stepping out of the way as Corso returned with a small cloth bag and a plastisteel case. "What's in there?"

"Magazine, and an old generator I've been tinkering with. Gear."

"Nice," Junaida replied neutrally and found herself yawning.

"That reminds me," Corso said as he set his things down by the door and begun to undo the locks. "I think you owe me a gun or two."

"Or two?" Junaida countered. "I only lost one!"

"Yeah, but you ought to hold onto that other one."

"What's its name?" Junaida asked, glancing down at the small blaster on her hip.

"I didn't get around to naming her," Corso replied, leading the way outside to the speeder as usual.

"Her?"

"Yeah, that's definitely a lady gun," Corso explained. "That's why I thought she'd be right for you, but you_ had_ to go for Torchy."

"I'll get Torchy back," Junaida promised him as she climbed into the passenger seat. "Just you wait and see."


	6. Chapter 6: To Coruscant

**Chapter 6: To Coruscant**

The shuttle Skavak had found for Junaida and Corso was an official Republic ferry piloted by a Sullustan in uniform with an officer's number on his sleeve and a no-frills kind of courtesy for his passengers. This meant that while Junaida and Corso would be sharing the cargo cum passenger bay with a gaggle of refugees and travelers, they could take their hands off their weapons long enough to get a good night's sleep for the first time in a long time.

The journey would take them the better part of two days, so Corso took the opportunity to teach Junaida cards and weapon maintenance—at least at first. The captain was understandably uncomfortable with weapons being taken apart and put back together on his ship, since a single unlucky shot might damage something important and get them all killed. After one heated telling-off, they stuck to cards, and Junaida became increasingly convinced that Corso was letting her win exactly once every five hands just to make her feel better.

"Do you remember that vacation your dad took you and your brother and sister on when you were ten or so? To Tython?" Corso asked, laying down his cards and once again beating Junaida's mismatched hand. They weren't playing for anything but bragging rights, so Junaida merely sighed.

"Vacation on Tython? Something like that. I think I was left with an 'aunt' or something who had children half my age. And I was fifteen."

"Well, that trip was actually business," Corso explained.

"No, really?" Junaida drawled sarcastically. "You don't think I actually bought the story about you and dad going 'souvenir shopping' while I played tag with Maraik and 'cousin' whatshername? We didn't even visit Alsi. That didn't make sense."

"That was the last deal I did with your dad. It went well. Too well. Instead of a blaster-fight, when we ran into trouble as you inevitably do in his line of work, he played cards for the right to walk off Tython alive. This is why I'm teaching you now. Sometimes there are alternatives to violence." Corso re-dealt the cards. Junaida noted that the corner of one of Corso's was bent. Not again.

"Did he play fair?"

"Of course not," Corso replied with a half-smile. "He never played fair. I had a problem with it, actually, but he said a crooked card game was better than a fair firefight any day, and if I didn't agree I could take a hike."

"So you did," Junaida finished, shuffling the cards around in her hands, trying to make a decent sequence. "You left later that year."

"Yeah, but that wasn't why. Well, sort of." Corso passed her another card from the deck. A good one. "Your dad would rather kick a man when he was down than get into an all-out fight with him. I was young and eager to fight, and I never agreed with his morals, see. I believe your enemy deserves to see your face before you shoot him. Same courtesy I'd want for myself if I had to take a blaster bolt. Back then, I'd rather die honorably than fight dirty. But a few years back, on Ord Mantell, I finally understood why he did what he does."

"Because living is so much better than dying?" Junaida suggested sarcastically.

Corso gave her a disapproving look. "Well, yeah. Because for him it was. He had you, your brother and sister, your mom. He had people who needed him and wanted him to come back alive. He'd do anything for you guys, Juni."

Junaida felt the pang of guilt that she knew was the intended effect of this little speech. She had a good hand. "What made you realize this all of a sudden?" she asked, hoping to redirect the pressure she felt she was under.

"Perspective," was all Corso would tell her.

She wondered briefly if Corso had any children. He was old enough, wasn't he? How old was he? She tried to do the math for a minute or two and then Corso dealt her another card that completely destroyed both the hand she was trying to build and her theory that Corso was letting her win every five hands. Maybe it was six? She decided to just come out and ask. "Do you have children, Corso?"

She thought she saw Corso blush. "Of course not," he told her. "Never been married."

"My parents weren't married," she pointed out. "Not until they finished having all of us babies."

Corso was silent. "All right, stars or pass?" he asked, arranging his new cards in his hand.

Junaida sighed again as she lay hers down. "Doesn't matter, lousy hand." She watched Corso make a tally on the scorecard.

"That's fifty one to—"

"No, no, throw it away," Junaida groaned. "Do you know any _other_ card games?" she asked.

Corso smirked. "Well, there's one other one, but nobody plays it within a hundred parsecs of Ord Mantell. Here, listen closely."

* * *

Junaida had never landed at the main spaceport on Coruscant. Her parents used a smaller port closer to their home, so the sight of the endlessly long halls filled with plants and garbage gave Junaida a strange feeling that she wasn't coming home at all, but arriving someplace completely new and terribly foreign.

They took the elevator down ten stories and came out onto an open air boulevard of durasteel, high railings and palm-like holo-trees marking the barrier between solid platform and endless nothing. Almost instantly, Junaida's HoloComm chirped. She beckoned to Corso to wait while she ducked into a holo-booth and took the call. It was Skavak.

"There's my new assistant," the rogue smuggler greeted her condescendingly if affectionately. "How was the trip?"

"Pleasant enough," Junaida replied, watching the miniature Skavak-hologram recline in a round-backed chair.

"I hear you brought a friend," Skavak told her.

Junaida wondered if she ought to be worried or not. "In case you haven't noticed I'm not very good at this," she replied and decided that if Skavak knew she was traveling with someone, he probably knew everything. "Corso owes my father a favor," she explained, "He's going to be my guardian for a little bit."

"I had hoped you'd want me for that position," Skavak drawled, making it clear that the offer was both disingenuous and flirtatious.

Junaida paused and then said, "I do." She decided to play it like Corso was being imposed on her by her overbearing if well-meaning father. "I'd much rather have you around than some chaperone."

"Well then, lose your chaperone and meet me at this location tonight," Skavak said, and Junaida saw the flash on her comm as an attachment was received. She'd have to pick up a new datapad to download it. She'd left hers on her ship, which went to say that it was probably Skavak's now. It suddenly occurred to Junaida that if they were wrong, and someone else had stolen her ship she was never, ever going to see it again _or_ live this down. No, she was stupid but not completely thick. Skavak probably still had her ship—but he wanted to have Junaida, too. Of course, Junaida knew which one he'd rather hold onto long term, and it was the one with the hyperdrive. Fiver's sabotage clearly hadn't worked, which might even be for the best. Coruscant was, after all, Junaida's home turf. If she couldn't win her ship back here, she didn't deserve to.

"Sure," Junaida replied casually. "Shouldn't be too hard. He's a small town kind of guy," she said, resisting the urge to wink at Corso who watched disapprovingly from the door of the holo-booth.

Skavak might also have sold her ship for scrap on Ord Mantell, in which case she felt more than a little entitled to letting the backstabber buy her a few drinks before she put a blaster to his head. She flinched at her own thought. _Do I mean that? Could I pull the trigger? _She knew she couldn't and she wasn't sure if she was relieved or frightened.

Skavak eyed her suspiciously and she wondered if he was watching her on a holo viewer larger than her own. She could only just make out his expressions in the rippling image, but he watched her as though all the tiny expressions of her face were larger than life. "See you then, little one," he concluded and ended the transmission.

Junaida pocketed the viewer and turned to Corso. "Sorry," she said.

"I _am_ a small town kind of guy," he agreed reluctantly. "That's never more apparent than when I come here." He rolled his shoulders and hefted his gun case. "Why don't we pay your parents a visit?"

Junaida nodded. After the long journey she would have killed for a long hot shower and some real food. If she was in any luck, her mother would have stocked the fridge with all the excessively organic products she'd always favored, and her dad would have stocked the liquor cabinet with real Corellian brandy. Not that she could afford to get as mind-numbingly drunk as she wanted to just then. After all, she had work to do.

Corso and Junaida took a taxi from the spaceport promenade to the outskirt sectors of the main city, and then had to get out, pay the driver, and board a different taxi that would go below the fiftieth storey mark. Most wouldn't. It wasn't that Junaida's parents' home was in the seedy underbelly of Coruscant; just the entrance to it was. Once through the entrance however, there was a turbo-lift that would take them ten storeys back up into a level just above the seedy underbelly. It was half the price of an upper level apartment, and just as nice, and all because the front door was in the shadows.

While they waited for the turbolift Corso fidgeted. Junaida shot him a look and smiled.

"What?" he mumbled. "I haven't seen your dad in years, and now I show up after failing to get you out of trouble."

"It was a fool's errand to begin with," Junaida reassured him. "But you got me off Ord Mantell alive, so I can't imagine he'll be displeased with _you_."

"I doubt your mother will agree."

"Don't be silly," Junaida teased. "My mother always liked you. I think she hoped my brother would grow up to be like you."

"How is Maraik?" Corso asked cheerfully.

"Alive and kicking," Junaida assured him, stepping aside to let Corso into the lift first, then closing the doors and typing in the pass-code on the panel that would take them to the correct level. "Military academy. We Tormarises gravitate towards violent professions." There was the jolt of vertigo as they moved upwards, and then the lift came to a stop and Junaida's ears popped.

The turbolift opened directly into the apartment. The entrance hall was all brass and tile, with a large flowering plant waving in the breeze of the air-processor in the wall. Junaida heard scrabbling in the kitchen and half expected to see the big scaly form of her childhood akk dog round the corner, but the creature had died long ago, and the form that came through the door was her father.

Vondo gave Junaida a wan smile before pulling her into a hug.

"I'm sorry," Junaida found herself saying unexpectedly.

"You'd better be," Vondo replied affectionately and let Junaida go. Even aliens not familiar with human physiology would be able to spot the family resemblance between Juni and her father. They were both fair-skinned with straight, raven-black hair, blue eyes, and the same slightly crooked smile. They even held themselves the same way. Junaida had picked up all her father's mannerisms, and frowned like him, laughed like him and changed from one guarded individual in public into a completely different, relaxed and playful person in private. Corso had seen flashes of this in Junaida before, but now with the two of them standing side by side like mirror images, he felt a rush of affection and envy.

"Hi again, Captain," Corso said stiffly, reaching out to shake Vondo's hand.

The older man folded Corso into a hug instead, thumping him on the back and releasing him with a big, unreserved smile. "When did you grow up?" Vondo teased.

Corso blushed and found himself grinning as well. "I'm glad to hear you think I have."

"I couldn't be more grateful," Vondo told him, "For picking my idiot daughter up from jail and keeping her alive. Maybe I should have let her cool her jets in there a bit longer, huh?"

Junaida beamed. "Nah, they were going to release me anyway. They had no evidence."

Vondo cocked an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Rogun the Butcher doesn't need evidence, but you wouldn't have been safe in a maximum security ward on Belsavis if Rogun wants you dead." He turned to Corso. "Corso, I've made up the spare room for you. Help yourself to the 'fresher, the conservator, and the brandy. I need to have a heart-to-heart with my daughter."

Corso gave Junaida a pitying nod and pulled off his boots. Once he was out of sight, Vondo led Junaida to the living room and sat her down. He was silent for a moment, watching her fidget on the high-backed leatheris sofa. Junaida wondered if her father had always looked this tired. There were new lines at the corners of his eyes, and new white at his temples. How long had she been gone? It couldn't have been more than a month. Was this perspective? She wanted to hug him again, but now was not the time.

"How much trouble are you in, really?" he asked in a low voice.

"A lot, I think," Junaida replied, truthfully. "My ship and my cargo were stolen before I could make the drop. I've got an employer thinking I've stolen his goods, bounty-hunters that will be hot on my heels as soon as they figure out that the man flying my ship isn't me."

"Who's got your ship?" Vondo asked.

"Some smooth-talking scumbag called Skavak, " Junaida replied. "He's here on Coruscant and I think I've got him convinced that I don't know he's got my ship. If I can get close to him, I think I can find out where the ship is and get it back."

"You think," Vondo scoffed, but he seemed more concerned than angry. "You need to _know_ Juni."

"I know it," Junaida corrected. "He's got to have it."

"He doesn't 'got to' anything," Vondo reminded her sharply. "But if you feel confident that you've developed good enough instincts after a week in the game to trust your gut, go for it."

Junaida blushed. Scathing indeed.

"How about Corso?" Vondo asked.

"What about him?"

"He looks like he's seen a ghost. Was that you?"

Junaida frowned. "He looked this way when he picked me up from the prison."

"Fine," Vondo ceded. "Because the bright-eyed little kid I used to let carry a gun on my boat isn't there anymore. I'm not sure what I think of the new Corso."

"He's good," Junaida assured her father. "He saved my life more than once already, and then laid it on the line a few minutes later to save a lot more. He's everything you always said he was."

Vondo smiled tiredly. "Good."

"Is mum home?" Junaida asked.

She thought she saw her father wince as he shook his head. "She left last night, couldn't stay until you got here. Sorry."

Junaida sighed. "Just like old times."

"Cut her some slack."

"I do," Junaida retorted. "I just really wanted to talk to her today."

"Talk to me," Vondo pleaded.

Junaida smiled. "It's okay. It's not serious."

Vondo ruffled his daughter's hair. "You see, that worries me, because you always take the wrong things seriously and shrug off the stuff that might kill you."

"It's gotten me this far."

"I hope that one day you'll look back on this conversation and realize how very not-far this really is."

* * *

When Junaida returned from her meeting with Skavak the house was dark and her dad and Corso both seemed to have gone to bed already. It was late. There was a half-empty bottle of Corellian whiskey on the coffee table and two glasses. She poured herself a couple of inches of the bright amber liquid, took one slow sip, and then downed the rest in two gulps.

They had decided earlier that evening that having Corso shadow her would be too obvious, so Vondo asked a favor of another old associate that Junaida didn't know but whose holo-freq she'd been given in case things went badly. Of course, she was supposed to stay in sight of her invisible bodyguard, but both Junaida, her father, and the phantom bodyguard had known that this was not going to happen. Junaida had half expected her chaperone to come screeching down in a hovercar the moment she left the seedy cantina with Skavak, but it never happened. Maybe she wished it had happened. No, that wasn't it either. Still, she hadn't enjoyed herself as much as she had expected to. She imagined hearing Skavak's breathing in her ear again and she felt unclean. It's not like this was the first time.

Junaida wanted to shower but decided not to. She went to her room and threw a dressing gown on over the gauzy blouse and leggings she'd worn out that evening. Her blouse was torn, but not because she'd put up a fight. Junaida went back to the living room and downed another glass of whiskey. Why did she feel so queasy?

She flipped on a light in the kitchen and poured herself a tall glass of water and tossed it back with the same zeal with which she'd tossed back the whiskey. When she heard a door closing somewhere in the house she nearly jumped. She turned to see her father standing in the living room, looking as though she'd just woken him.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Yes, because this is the first time you've woken me up coming home late," Vondo drawled. "Get what you went for?"

Junaida nodded. She had, one way or another. "I'll try not to be so loud," she said, pouring herself another glass of water.

"It's okay," Vondo replied, waving one hand in tired dismissal. "I thought you might be Corso, actually. I wanted to let him know I had some boots for him to try on."

"Corso's not home?" Junaida asked, surprised. "He didn't follow me, did he?"

"No, no," Vondo said and yawned. "At least I don't think so. Oh well, I'll talk to him in the morning. Good night."

"Night," Junaida called as her father disappeared back into the master bedroom. She finished the second glass of water and walked slowly to her room. It was plain and almost empty. She'd thrown almost all of her old things away. She'd never liked to keep trinkets. She always felt weighed down by her possessions, as though one days she'd have to leave in the night and everything that wasn't already packed would be used like a sample scent you gave an akk before telling it to hunt down the bearer. These things felt like links in a chain keeping her on Coruscant. She had one box from Alderaan with gifts from Alsina in it that she couldn't bear to throw away because even if the Jedi said they could visit Alsina now, they could change their minds again and this would be all Junaida had of her sister. The closet was full of formal clothes she never wore anymore except on nights like this one. Junaida stripped off the torn blouse and tossed it into the incinerator, but didn't set it to incinerate.

The house was still. If she listened, she would probably be able to hear when Corso came back. He was, after all, a small town boy in a big city. Someone ought to look out for him. Then again, having Junaida looking out for him would probably help Corso less than a blaster bolt helped a broken arm. Fumbling through her bedside table, Junaida pulled a small tin of sleeping pulls from underneath her socks, popped one, and washed it down with the last mouthful of water from her glass.


	7. Chapter 7: The Law

**Chapter 7: The Law**

Junaida overslept and missed what would have been the first real cooked breakfast in weeks. When she got up, all that was left were dishes and a note saying that her father and Corso had gone out to visit an old friend. She forgot the previous night's melancholy and the claustrophobic nostalgia of sleeping in her old room, and for an hour or so she was content. There was a small fitness center a few levels down, and while a lot of the equipment was specced for aliens, and half of it was out of order, she was able to find a stat-track for humanoids and run for twenty minutes as well as lift a few rounds of different weights, then swim in the dingy pool for another twenty minutes before taking the lift back up, finally showering, and re-evaluating the food situation in her parents' house.

Faced with the empty conservator and sudden fatigue, Junaida's contentment slipped away and she felt lonelier than she had in a very long time, and it was then that she remembered why she'd left. Maybe her parents had managed to carve out a comfortable life here, but it wasn't big enough for her. She'd always felt bad about leaving. She was the oldest, so when she'd first stated her desire to travel to the outer rim to continue her studies in mechanical-theory, she'd felt guilty about it. It didn't matter that neither of her siblings lived at home anymore either, but Junaida felt guilty for abandoning her parents. But Junaida was no stranger to abandonment.

She had to do it. Her sanity depended on it. Just like her sanity had depended on dropping out of those advanced mechanical-theory studies and scraping together enough credits to buy her own ship; on seeing everything, going everywhere, and carving out her own place in the galaxy the same way her parents had. She'd had her doubts—particularly in prison on Ord Mantell, but no matter how turbulent the hyperspace lane got, she knew she was in the right one.

Or at least, that was the thought she decided to commit to today as she selected a carton of gelatinous little orbs she wasn't sure were eggs or berries. She bit into one of them. Berries. She'd been hoping for eggs. She made a pot of caf and decided that even if her father and Corso didn't come back before lunch she could probably finish it herself. She was tired. The sleeping pills hadn't completely worn off, and the workout had reawakened a dull ache in her ribs where she'd fallen on them. She checked her chrono, and then decided that the pot of caf would be the only timer she needed. If her father or Corso weren't back by the time she finished the caf, she'd go alone.

Junaida's plan to get her ship back wasn't a very good one, but at least she'd managed to snag the intel she needed off Skavak the night before when he'd decided to sleep off what he suspected was one drink too many. It was in fact one sleeping capsule too many, slipped into his drink while he flirted with some trashy looking Twi'lek while Junaida waited at their table. While he was asleep, Junaida had searched his hotel for any information about where he was parked and what he was flying. She wasn't too surprised to discover that Skavak hadn't arrived on Coruscant flying her ship, but she was a little disappointed. Of course Skavak skulking off with the ship that had failed to make its drop with Roguns guns would be suspicious. Besides, Skavak had his own ship from the beginning—a bulky, heavily modified transport. It was slow and suspicious, would pack a heavy punch if engaged in space combat, but would never make it past customs on Ord Mantell—or most planets with a civilised orbital station, whether they be Republic or Imperial.

Junaida reckoned this was why Skavak had snatched her ship in the first place. She was a newbie and her ship had never been tagged for suspicious activity. All Skavak had needed to do was slip onto the planet, break into her ship, get rid of the contents, and take off—leaving her to blame for the missing cargo. If it were the Republic on her heels Junaida wouldn't have worried; they didn't have any evidence to prove she'd sold the guns. Of course, they also couldn't prove she _didn't_ sell them, but with the Republic, that would keep her out of jail long enough. Rogun, however, was more likely to just kill her, regardless of whether or not he thought she really was responsible for the loss, and then move on to finding and killing the next likeliest suspect.

For the fifth time that week, Junaida wondered if she was in over her head. Of course she was, but that didn't change anything.

She'd found a receipt in one of Skavak's pockets with his docking bay on it. He'd left late the morning after their date, probably feeling as knocked-out by the sleeping pills as Junaida still did, though in Junaida's case she'd taken them voluntarily. He told her dismissively that he had business to conclude on Coruscant, but that he'd call her that evening for dinner.

Junaida knew well enough that he would not be calling her for dinner. If he did call her, it would be well after dinner. He'd probably claim he had something important to tell her. Oh yes, Junaida was familiar with men like Skavak. She also suspected that the business he had to conclude was the sale of her own ship, so time was of the essence.

The caf was gone. Junaida pulled on her jacket and boots and reached for a pad of flimsi to leave a note before deciding that it was best if she didn't. She hailed a taxi and headed for the spaceport. Her plan hinged on being able to break into not only Skavak's bay, but his ship as well. Otherwise she'd be stuck trying to hack into his computer system from outside the ship, and Junaida knew her slicing skills were not up to that task. In fact, she'd be lucky if she could slice in to his computer from the main terminal without Fiver's help. She hoped Fiver was alright, wherever he was. Wherever her ship was.

But that was what she was going to find out today, and it looked like she'd be working solo.

It was docking bay F-617. The bays were normally locked via passcode on the flimsi receipt. It wasn't the most secure system, but it added an extra layer of security for people's ships, which in most cases was nothing compared to the actually security on the ship itself.

Junaida only brought the little holdout blaster with her, tucked inside her vest like old times. It wasn't entirely unusual to see people with unconcealed weapons wandering around the Coruscant spaceport, but if Junaida was going to run into trouble here, the extra second it took her to draw from her shoulder holster would not save her.

The spaceport was busy, but it was always busy. There was law enforcement everywhere—mostly customs officials, but also the heavily armed Republic commandos who came in when someone on a wanted list was pinged coming through the atmospheric control net. Junaida ignored them all. In a place like this, nothing was more suspicious than looking over your shoulder. There were people everywhere going about their completely mundane business. Acting otherwise would have literally set off alarm bells. The holocams that kept a constant eye on the spaceport were programmed to detect twitchiness, when people stood still too long, people moving too slow, too fast—anything out of the norm. Junaida pretended she was heading back to her own ship. She walked quickly, like someone in a hurry, but whose life didn't depend on it. She typed in the code from the receipt—she'd memorized it—and stepped through into the bay.

And immediately wanted to step back out again. There were four extra aliens in the bay than she'd been counting on; a big Trandoshan and two Weequays, all dressed in the lasted black-market military gear, all of them armed with blaster-rifles bigger than Junaida was. All except the fourth, a small Sullustan male in the blue and tan colors of Republic law enforcement. He had his hands up, the Trandoshan jabbing a rifle muzzle into his shoulder while the other two kept watch. If it weren't for the other two, Junaida thought she might have been able to slip out again unnoticed and pretend none of this had happened, but the moment Junaida stepped in, the Weequays shouted.

Weequays weren't the brightest species in the galaxy, but they still had their rifles trained on the door as Junaida slipped out through it. They began firing, blaster bolts splattering across the doorframe as Junaida tried to escape, but the door hissed shut, and Junaida had no choice but to draw her blaster and fire back. Even frightened, Junaida was a good shot at this short of a range, and both the Weequays went down within seconds.

Trandoshans, however, weren't idiots. The lizard like alien threw the Sullustan to the ground and raised his blaster. Junaida dodged the first round of shots, but she felt them heat up the air around her. She fired back. The first two shots lit up the Trandoshan's thick armor but didn't pierce it, while the third shot took him through the forehead. Even the Trandoshan's thick skin couldn't save him. He hit the ground with a clatter, his rifle firing on automatic into the wall. Junaida rushed forward to pull the dead alien's finger off the trigger, and then glanced to the Sullustan.

He had his hands up again, though he didn't look particularly frightened. Junaida wasn't sure she knew how to recognize fear on a Sullustan, though. Not on a male, anyway.

"Are you going to shoot me, too?" the Sullustan asked.

Junaida holstered her weapon in reply. "No. You're law enforcement. I'm not an idiot."

"Coruscant customs," the Sullustan corrected warily. "Is this your vessel?"

"No, sir," Junaida replied. "Who were your friends?"

"Not my friends," he told her. "And I presume, also not yours?"

"I don't know what they'd want with me," Junaida lied. She glanced at the Trandoshan's corpse. She half expected to see _Property of Rogun the Butcher_ written on his armor, but of course that wasn't how it worked. If he did work for Rogun, he wouldn't let it be known. He might not even have been looking for Juni. This was, after all, Skavak's hangar. "This ship belongs to a guy called Skavak. Why, what are you doing here?"

"I know who this ship belongs to," the Sullustan told her. "I've been tailing Skavak for quite some time, now. He tends to travel with young, pretty human women. Are you one of them?"

"Are you flattering me?" Junaida retorted. She felt a little ill. Was she bantering with a cop? "If you've been tailing Skavak then you'll know I didn't come here with him."

"Doesn't mean you aren't going to leave with him. What are you doing here?"

Junaida took a deep breath. Dead or alive, this Sullustan could end her. He was Galactic Police, and if he had been assigned to tail Skavak, chances are he was a big-shot. No use messing with him. She decided to come clean. "I came here to slice into Skavak's ship. He stole my ship and I'm trying to find out what he's done with it. You can put your hands down. You and I both know I'm not going to shoot you."

The Sullustan officer lowered his hands and nodded. He paced a few steps, as though stretching his legs. "Are you slicing into the ship or the computer?" he asked.

"Whichever one I can manage," Junaida replied and lowered her hands. The Sullustan didn't seem to mind.

He sized her up and then smiled, jowls straining. Junaida couldn't remember if Sullustans smiled the same way humans did or if this was a conscious effort to appear friendly. "What's your name?"

"Juni," Junaida replied.

"Well, Juni, I'm not actually with customs," the Sullustan said, "My name is Miel, Galactic Republic Police. It seems that I owe you a favor for saving my life today. Let me propose a series of events that might suit both of us. In this alternate series of events, I have not arrived at this docking bay yet. In fact, I probably won't arrive until well after you're finished your work here. When I arrive, however, I'll probably find that you left the ship unlocked—but do not worry, I will probably ensure that it is locked when I leave, well after you're gone. Does that sound agreeable?"

Junaida's heart skipped a bit. "So this alternate series of events would replace what actually happens here? And what about the dead guys? What happens to them in your series of events?"

"I can see to it that they appear to have never existed," Miel replied. "I'll need a bit of time, but I can clean this up. Literally and figuratively. Sound good?"

"It does," Junaida agreed with a small, suspicious smile. "I can't have Skavak finding out someone's been poking around his ship."

"He won't," Miel promised.

Junaida took a deep breath and hauled out her small slicer's kit from the backpack she'd brought along, and opened up the panel beside the door. A holocam beneath the surface panel immediately chirped alive, recording information about the intruder, but before it could send any signals to the main computer, Junaida detached the outgoing lines. It took a good half-hour of sorting through wires and cables, conferring with her datapad to correctly identify a number of pieces, but at long last Junaida was in a position to connect the messy little rewired ball into her datapad and open the door. Miel gave her a nod of approval.

"I take it you need the main computer?" he asked.

"Yeah," Junaida confirmed. "Communication logs. I need to find out if he's tried to fence my ship yet."

"I also am in need of the communication logs," Miel told her, removing a small datacard from his pocket and handing it to her. "I would appreciate it if you made me a copy."

"Of course," Junaida assured him, a little irritated. Making the little Sullustan law enforcer a copy would take time, and she was sure she didn't have much of that. She plugged her own datacard into the main console just inside the ship and found a blaster once more at her head.

"Mine first," Miel insisted.

Junaida swore under her breath but complied. "Listen, if we run out of time and I don't get the chance to make my own copy, that's one hell of a favor I'm doing you just now."

"It is," Miel acknowledged, "And it will be repaid in like. Don't worry, Juni, you will get your information. I give you my word."

Junaida didn't have to be a newbie to know that someone's word was only as good as you knew that person, and Junaida didn't know Miel at all. But it didn't look like she had any options. She plugged the card in, which immediately triggered the embedded slicing software that began to decrypt the security on the main computer. This, too, took time. It could be over in an instant, or it could take hours. There was nothing for Junaida to do but stare at the screen while numbers scrolled by.

"You're a strange criminal, you know," Miel commented conversationally. "You don't seem to know what you're doing, but you don't seem very frightened either."

"I'm frightened," Junaida replied with a hard look for the Sullustan. "I was just raised not to show it. Fear doesn't help much in a situation like this."

"You clearly weren't raised to be a criminal," Miel continued. "But I imagine any entreaty I might make suggesting you give this life up would fall on deaf ears?"

"Not deaf so much as very stubborn," Junaida told him.

"I've met a lot of different kinds of criminals over the years," Miel told her, leaning against the bulkhead. "I've put a lot of them away, and I've taken a lot of them down, but they're not all the same. They've all got their personal codes. Sometimes that means they've got no code, with others that means that they'll take on the code of whoever they think will get them what they want. You, dear Juni, don't seem to have a code yet."

Junaida wanted to roll her eyes. "Would it surprise you at all if I told you I was new?"

"Yes," Miel said with a slow nod. "You don't seem new to this at all, Juni. Inexperienced yes, but not at all phased by what's happening around you."

Junaida kept quiet.

"Last night you were in love with a man, and today you break into his ship."

Junaida's stomach pitched. "What? How...what?"

"I've been tailing Skavak for some time, like I said," Miel explained. "I watched you two last night."

"I'm not in love with Skavak," Junaida protested. "I'm not an idiot."

"Just because you know it'd be a mistake doesn't mean it hasn't happened."

"Please," Junaida drawled, but was spared having to reply properly when the console beeped and they were in. She sifted through a few different databases before copying all of the comm and travel data onto the policeman's card.

"May I?" Miel offered, and Junaida stepped aside to let him at the console. He typed quickly and suddenly a branch popped up that had not been there before, leading to a small hidden drive. The Sullustan copied it onto the card. "There," he said and took the card out. "I think that concludes our business."

"One second," Junaida protested marching up the corridor then pausing. Her hand went to her blaster, and Miel twitched. "Don't worry, law-man. I'm just getting twitchy, but not about you."

The police man hesitated. "What are you looking for?"

"Skavak took something of mine," she explained. "I want to retrieve it."

"Won't that tip him off to you being here?"

"Maybe."

Miel didn't look happy, but he agreed to proceed through the ship with her. Junaida didn't like sneaking around on strange ships, but she couldn't pass up the chance to get Torchy back. Not only would it make Corso smile, but she needed that gun. Little Miss Bam was a good pistol, but didn't pack much of a punch. Junaida cringed. No, that was a terrible name. She'd keep thinking.

Skavak's quarters had to be the ones closest to the bridge. The door was locked, but by then it only took Junaida a couple of seconds to rewire the panel and get them in.

The room was neat and looked like nobody had ever lived in it, except for the bag on the floor near the bed and the half-drunk bottle of water beside a mirror. Of course Skavak would keep a tidy room. He lived a messy life. Something had to be orderly. In the closet Junaida found Skavak's weapons store and for a moment or two she just paused to admire the hardware. There were a lot of guns in there, most of which appeared to have been cannibalized for parts. No Torchy.

Junaida closed to closet and stepped out of the room, taking the time to fix the door and lock it again.

"Find what you came looking for?" Miel asked.

"Not here," Junaida replied. "He must have it on him." She froze suddenly. Somewhere in the corridor she heard footsteps. "Hide," she told Miel, and the officer ducked into the doorway. Junaida kept walking forward.

One of the secondary quarters had opened, admitting a round-faced girl with a red diamond-shaped tattoo on her cheek. She was dressed in spacer gear—tights, loose tunic, sweater—but the tunic was cut low enough to reveal very ample cleavage. Junaida sized her up.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"Dana," the girl replied, glancing over her shoulder, patting her hip for the blaster she'd clearly set down somewhere else. "Who are you?"

"Juni," Junaida replied. "Is Skavak here?"

"No," the girl told her. "Why, what do you want with him?"

"I want to see him," Junaida countered. "He said he might find a place for me on his crew. Are you on his crew?"

"Not exactly," the girl told her. "He was going to hire you?"

"Yeah."

"For like, work and stuff? Just work?"

"Why, don't you work for him?"

"I'm his girlfriend," the girl told Junaida proudly. "What do you want from him?"

"You're his girlfriend?" Junaida repeated, trying to seem shocked. She felt a pang in her gut, an involuntary one. She had to get angry now. That was the only way she'd be able to knock this idiot out and slip away without making a scene. Well, a scene that might tip Skavak off to her real intentions.

"Yeah," the buxom girlfriend said firmly. "Now tell me, what do you want with my Skavak?"

"_Your_ Skavak!" Junaida shouted. Maybe she'd gotten angry too fast to be convincing. Oh well. "He said he was _my_ Skavak!"

"That's not possible."

"No!" Junaida wailed and tried to force herself to cry. She really, really regretted not having developed that skill as a teenager like all the other good little Coruscanti drama-queens. "You whore!" she shouted. "He's mine!"

Finally the girl got scared and ducked out of the hallway back into the room she'd come out of. Junaida opened the panel and ripped the wires out. The door locked. "You stay in there!" she shouted. "I'll find Skavak and then we'll see which one of us he loves!"

Junaida waved for Miel to come out of hiding.

"Impressive show," he congratulated, though Junaida had a feeling he was very unimpressed.

"Yeah," Junaida grumbled and recomposed herself. "Let's go."

The smuggler and the lawman stepped off the ship and Junaida dismantled her hack on the door, leaving everything just the way it had been. She'd have trouble from Skavak now, but there was no avoiding that. So long as he kept on thinking she was an insane, obsessed little girl who couldn't tell one end of a blaster from another, they'd be fine.

"I'll send you the data on the HoloNet," Miel told her.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd copy it now," she replied. "I don't want to be mistrustful, but in my line of work, you're mistrustful or you're dead. You'd do the same and you know it."

"I do," Miel ceded. "Come, let me buy you a cup of caf and we'll transfer the data."

Junaida was immensely grateful to find herself sitting in a café outside the spaceport on a long boulevard overlooking rush-hour traffic with a law-man who didn't want her dead. She felt relaxed, and she knew she shouldn't, but if Miel was going to arrest or shoot her, he'd have done it already. She wasn't even sure he had a gun. What kind of a cop walked into a strange hangar unarmed?

"Thank you," Junaida said.

"You're welcome," replied the Sullustan, uploading the data onto his personal datapad and then transferring the lot onto Junaida's chip. "And thank _you._ I'm sure you understand the legal complexities of an officer of the law breaking into private property. I'm glad you could do what I cannot."

"Any time," Junaida said thoughtlessly.

"Don't say it if you don't mean it," Miel teased. "And I do. You'd make good law enforcement."

"Except for the whole being an illegal privateer thing," Junaida reminded him and then winced. "I mean, a completely legitimate businesswoman."

"Don't worry, I guessed already, and it makes no difference. If you ever wanted to go straight one day, you'd have my backing."

"Go straight?" Junaida repeated. "Like, join up at Coruscant Security? No thank you."

"Of course not," Miel said with a wink. "But the Galactic Republic Police needs people, too."

"Still," said Junaida. "I've never been good at being a part of things, you know? Schools, academies, orders. I think I'm to be a lone wolf, and they don't let you do that right off the bat at RepPol, do they? Five years of academy, learning to follow orders, five years in the field, learning to write incident reports, five years as a part of a team, learning to trust other people—and then if you get there and you manage all that, you're allowed to unlearn it all and go solo."

"You've done your research then," Miel concluded.

Junaida forced a half smile. "I used to want to do it, you know, but fifteen years is a long time to wait to be who you are. I know what I want. I don't want to wait for someone else to tell me I'm ready for it."

"Admirable," Miel told her. "If worrisome. Here," he handed her the chip. "All the data is on there, even the extra files I pulled. Consider it a thank you."

"Thanks," Junaida said. "And thanks for everything. I'm glad I saved your life."

"As am I," Miel said and winked. "If only you'd reconsider my suggestion. Or just _say_ you'll consider RepPol."

"Fine," Junaida told him, draining the last of her caf and pocketing the chip. "I'll consider RepPol." She gave the Sullustan a wink and got to her feet. "Until next time."

"Until next time," Miel called.


	8. Chapter 8: Companions

**Chapter 8: Companions**

Junaida didn't go home, she went to another café on the boulevard and took a seat, ordered water, and began to sort through the data on the card. There was a lot of information. Skavak seemed to be involved in a lot of different enterprises, and there were incoming and outgoing transmissions to a lot of unsavory characters all across the galaxy, all lasting a few minutes—long enough to discuss business. She ran all the names actually entered into Skavak's system against rap-sheets pulled form RepPol websites. She'd bought the info off a crooked friend in the academy a year or so back looking to rebel against parents who worked for RepPol, so it wasn't completely up to date, but it would give her enough information to be able to guess who was likely to buy or fence stolen ships. She found three possibilities, none of whom Skavak had spoken to since Ord Mantell, but one of which he'd contacted a week and a bit _before_.

"That scum had this all worked out well in advance," Junaida grumbled, glancing at the profile of whoever was likely about to buy her ship. He was called Talon; a cyborg more modification than man, with a history of stealing and dealing ships. In the past decade or so though, he'd stopped stealing and kept out of jail. RepPol had an few outstanding warrants on this guy, but they'd all been moved to low priority, which in a big, busy, crime-filled galaxy was as good as deciding he wasn't worth the effort. Junaida decided to track him down.

This proved a lot harder to do.

RepPol data indicated that Talon had been pinged coming and going from Coruscant frequently in the last ten years, which suggested a primary or secondary residence on the planet. Finding the fence's contact info was about as difficult as finding his actual location, but at the bar where she'd met Skavak Junaida had also chatted up a few other unsavory characters, and in the end got the number of a guy who could probably give her Talon's holo-frequency, along with that half a dozen other people who fenced stolen goods.

Junaida called her contact and got the location of an old hangar at the minor spaceport a few clicks away from the main one. The information cost her more than she was willing to pay, so she lied and said she'd give him the second part of his fee after she confirmed that the tip was good. There would be no second half of the payment, and Junaida knew she'd never get information out of that contact or anyone else he knew ever again, but she was desperate. She'd have to rebuild that reputation later. Junaida hopped in another taxi, but with traffic it took her almost half an hour to get there. She drummed her fingers on her blaster and received nervous glance from the driver-droid. At the end of her journey she paid the driver, hopped out, and took stock of her surroundings.

The hangar was on a much lower level than most. It wasn't quite the seediest part of Coruscant's underbelly, but it wasn't much of a hike for those coming from there. An ambush could just as well come from below as above, and below the landing platform Junaida saw only darkness and service lights, here and there bits of the mold that grew in Coruscant's shadows. Her contact hadn't given her a bay number or anything useful like that. It was a big place, but still not big enough that she didn't think she'd be able to find what she came for. Her ship was small, but they might have stored it in a larger bay to throw people off. She'd have to hack the central database here to see a list of the occupied bays, and then she'd be lucky if they actually listed her ship under its correct specs. She'd probably end up tracking it down on foot.

But that wouldn't be necessary. The moment Junaida walked into the entrance way of the hangar she smelled blaster-fire; scorched plastics, ozone, smoke. There were bloodstains on reception cubicle and a burn mark on the wall behind it. Junaida's heart skipped a beat. She drew her blaster and proceeded half-crouched through the adjoining corridor. As she delved deeper into the complex she was able to hear the sound of shots as well, coming from one of the halls that led to a honeycomb of bays the opposite direction of the office center where records would be kept.

A sensible person would check the computer. A law-abiding person would avoid the place that the blaster-fire was coming from. But Junaida was neither, and she was getting used to barging into firefights while tracking her ship down. Hopefully this would be the last one. She headed towards the noise.

Junaida padded down the hallway, ear pressed to the wall, blaster gripped in two hands. She cleared each section of the hall before moving down it and the blaster-fire continued to grow louder until at last she reached a bay with the control panel blown off. Crude, but oddly effective. From inside she could hear repeater fire from a T9-051 Trandoshan blaster rifle.

It took Junaida a few moments to realize why she could recognize the patter this particular blaster made when it fired, and by then she was through the doorway, crouched behind a crate, watching her father and Corso Riggs take overhead fire from at least half a dozen heavily armed mercenaries—and in the corner of the bay was her ship.

"By the door, we've got company!" her father shouted.

"Hold fire, it's me!" she shouted in reply.

Both men hesitated a moment, breaking the pattern of their fire and allowing the boldest of the mercenaries to storm down the gangplank and rush them. Junaida picked the man off with a shot to the throat that shattered his helmet's flimsy gorget. Her gun might have been a gannifari to a rancor in comparison to Corso's rifle, but it could still land a shot where it counted.

"What are you doing here?" Corso shouted.

"Never mind," Vondo called. "Juni, cover me."

Junaida barely had time to argue before her father ducked out of cover and sprinted the length of the hangar to crouch behind the landing gear of her ship, opening up his sights to the second merc coming down the gangplank. Juni was shocked, flattered, and then finally terrified that her father seemed to trust her. She wasn't going to let him down. She sent a flurry of blaster bolts toward their attackers, hitting none of them this time but making them duck.

"What are you guys doing here?" she hissed to Corso, crossing into the cover offered by a stack of crates where he hid.

"Getting your ship. How did you—"

"Never mind. I've got a thermal charge. I'm going to toss it at the big one, and when it goes off you fire from left to right, I'll fire from right to left. Got it?"

"Where'd you get a—got it," Corso agreed, breaking off his argument and lowering the visor on his helmet.

Junaida ducked out of cover for a moment, launching the thermal detonator she'd once nicked from police stores on a dare when she was sixteen, and had kept as a memento ever since. You could get modifications for bigger guns that launched these detonators with a trigger-pull, but Junaida's gun was too small for such heavy duty mods. She had to throw it overhand, winding up, opening her entire torso up to enemy fire—this was a terrible idea. But then the detonator flew from her hand and she dropped back down. She never thought she'd actually use the detonator. It had been a souvenir from one time one of her friends had almost been arrested during a drunken soirée. The officer had left it on his desk while he went to get caf, and Junaida had spotted it through the doorway. She didn't want to think what it was going to do when it went off. It gravitated like a magnet to the hot target of the central merc, and then clicked into place on his armor. The male, a Twi'lek, batted at the charge like a fly, but he couldn't pull it free in time. It exploded, shattering him open and knocking back both of the men beside him. Junaida stepped out of cover once more and fired three times, sinking two of three bolts into the target on the far right. Corso took out both targets on the left with two shots. That left only one, and Junaida couldn't see where the target had gone.

"Shadows," Vondo's voice said from Corso's lapel comm. "I saw her tuck herself back behind those crates. I think she's got explosives on her. Stay back."

Junaida obeyed, as did Corso. "You shouldn't be here," he told her. She ignored him. She had her eye on her father who was fiddling with something on his wrist. After a few seconds he disappeared.

"Corso!" she hissed.

"Calm down," Corso grumbled, glancing at her quickly before returning his attention to the space where their target was hunkered down. "Stealth technology. Your father bought it a long time ago. It sort of works."

Junaida watched as a ripple passed through the docking back and up the ramp. The device shorted for a second and Vondo was visible, but then disappeared again. All Junaida could hear were faint, careful footsteps.

And then there was a hiss and a blaster fired. Her father appeared at the top of the ramp, smoke curling from the muzzle of his blaster. Their target cried out in pain, hit the ground, and was silent.

Vondo took a deep breath and returned to face Corso and his daughter. "Well that's done," he said.

Junaida exhaled deeply too. "I still don't understand how you guys knew to come here."

Vondo smirked. "I don't know how _you_ did. I know because your idiot friend Skavak tried to sell me your ship."

"Sell _you_ my ship?" Junaida repeated. "Wait, you're not—"

"The Talon?" Vondo asked with a chuckle. "Sure I am. Talon, Ra'lon—you haven't forgotten my birth name, have you? Come on. I made the guy up ten years back or so. I was tired of getting my hands dirty but could still use the income. Word to the wise, Juni; smugglers never retire. They just die or get really good at keeping out of trouble. Well, are you going to take a look at your ship or not?"

Junaida grinned and sprinted up the boarding ramp to her ship. The control panel didn't seem to have been tampered with, nor did the door look rigged to blow. First she tried her old access sequence, but she wasn't surprised to see that it didn't work.

"Here," Vondo intervened, passing her a chip. "I got the access codes when I bought her."

"Bought her?" Junaida balked. "You paid money for something I already paid money for?"

"Not really," Vondo assured her, "But Skavak thinks I did. Of course, he thought I was going to pick her up tomorrow after the transfer went through, hence the thugs."

Junaida chuckled as the chip overrode the security and let her reprogram the lock and then open the door.

The ship appeared to have been stripped. Her registry numbers had been blasted off, the nav console ripped open but surprisingly not modified, and Junaida's personal things packed into crates waiting to be tossed into the nearest trash processor. They found Fiver buried in a crate of Junaida's travel-clothes with a smoking blaster burn through his ocular module.

"Oh Fiver," Junaida sighed mournfully. "It'll take me weeks to fix this."

She imagined that somewhere in there, if the little R5 droid's memory cortex was still intact, the little machine sighed with her.

Inspecting the cockpit, Junaida did a quick check, ran some diagnostics on the main console and navigational controls before looping around to the cargo bay to see if anything was left of the shipment she never delivered. There wasn't, but the cargo bay was far from empty.

A strange array of items was littered throughout the hold. There was a carbonite skid up against the wall, strapped in for safe transport, and a tarp had been thrown over what looked like a cage for carrying live animals, and an antique lifter droid lay on its back on the ground, its chassis torn open and wires sticking out like someone was in the middle of repairing it. And then there was a woman sitting with her feet up on the side of a crate, datapad in her lap. She didn't look much older than Junaida, and she was tall and slender with the neatly pinned hair and dark makeup fashionable on Coruscant on most Core Worlds. She didn't appear to have heard the firefight outside, or if she had she didn't seem very concerned.

"Who are you?" Junaida demanded indelicately, "And what are you doing on my ship?"

"I'm sorry," the woman replied, rising to her feet unhurriedly and extending her hand to shake Junaida's with cool professionalism. Junaida didn't take it. "I was under the impression that the new owner wouldn't be arriving until tomorrow."

"That may be correct, but I'm not the new owner," Junaida informed her suspiciously. "I'm the old owner."

The woman smiled. "Oh. Well that's interesting. Skavak didn't mention an old owner."

"What's all this?" Junaida went on, nodding at the cargo.

"My work," the woman said dismissively. "I'll have my team remove them right away."

"Your team?" Vondo asked, "Not that rag-tag crew of sharpshooters playing sabacc outside?"

"Yes," the woman confirmed.

"Yeah, we shot them all," Vondo went on. "They took issue with us reclaiming our property."

"Oh," the woman said indifferently. "So which one of you is the captain of this vessel?" she asked.

"I am," Junaida replied before her father could step in and try and help her out. He gave her a wary look and then shrugged.

"I have a business proposition for you then," the woman went on, glancing at the two men. "Do they work for you?"

"Only today," Vondo replied.

"Might I have a word alone with the captain, then?" the woman asked. "Since she'll be the one making the decision of whether or not to take me on as part of her crew. Captain…"

"Junaida," Juni replied, and now she did reach out and shake the woman's hand. "And you are?"

"Risha," said the woman and shot Vondo and Corso a look. "Excuse us, gentlemen?"

Corso looked displeased and Vondo gave his daughter a hard look, but they left, closing the door of the cargo bay behind them. Junaida watched them go then turned her attention back to Risha. She looked wary, but she was unarmed.

"I take it you're not one of Skavak's special friends?" Risha asked, taking a seat on the durasteel crate and motioning for Junaida to take the chair.

"Of course not," Junaida lied. "Are you?"

"You're joking, right?" Risha asked, arching her eyebrows in disdain. "Honestly, I don't see what girls see in him." Something in Risha's pocket chimed. "Speak of the devil," she began, and connected her handheld holo-comm to the terminal in the cargo bay. Skavak's image materialized in miniature.

"Risha," he called, "I got a notification about some disturbance in the hangar. Everything better be alright."

"Oh it is," Risha assured him. "Your buyer showed up a bit early though." She nodded to Junaida, and Junaida stepped into view of the transmitter.

"Remember me?" she taunted.

Skavak's grainy likeness showed mild surprise, but he quickly smothered it with that cocky smile. "How could I forget?"

"I'll be taking my ship back now, if you don't mind," Junaida informed him.

"Don't worry, Risha," Skavak said, ignoring Junaida, "I'll have someone come and shoot Ms. Tormaris in a couple of minutes, and then we'll get you moved into the new ship. You're going to like it; it's got a water 'fresher."

"I do love a real shower," Risha sighed. "But sorry, Skavak. I'd rather stay here with Junaida. Girl power and all that stuff, you know?" she winked at Junaida, who smiled nervously.

"Congratulations, Captain," Skavak growled at Junaida. "You're officially number one on my list of people to kill. When I get my hands on you…"

"You had your chance," Junaida drawled. "You'll never catch me."

Skavak laughed, a loud, bluffing laugh. "I don't have to catch you, little Juni, just get within missile range. What's that? You didn't notice the weapons systems in your ship are missing? You're not very thorough, captain. If that's the pilot you want to place your bet on, Risha, that's fine by me, but you should really know that if I don't shoot her down, Rogun the Butcher will."

"We can handle Rogun the Butcher," Risha said confidently, crossing her arms over her chest. "And I'm a pretty competent pilot myself."

"Well, you've both certainly got your delusions."

"Are you done posturing now, Skavak?" Risha asked impatiently. "I've got business to take care of."

Skava raised his voice, gesturing threateningly. "Don't even think about cutting me out of this deal! If it weren't for me you'd be dead on Ord Mantell."

"Bye bye, Skavak," Risha sang, and terminated the call. Skavak's image disappeared, and Junaida released a taut breath she'd been holding.

"Deal?" Junaida asked quickly, turning to face Risha.

"Why's Rogun after you?" Risha asked instead.

"Something Skavak did," she said evasively. "Why do you want to be on my crew?"

"Because I'm sick of working for men like Skavak."

"And how do you know I'm not a woman just like Skavak?"

"Because he seems fond of you, in spite of everything. If you were really anything like him he'd have shot you already," Risha told her. "And because you need a co-pilot. You can't fly this ship by yourself."

"No, I've got an astromech for that," Junaida told her.

"I saw Skavak blast its little droid-brains out when it tried to connect to the HoloNet," Risha reminded her. "Like I said, you need a co-pilot."

Junaida paused to glare and chew the inside of her lip. "Well then it turns out I _do_ need a co-pilot. Why should it be you?"

Risha took a deep, annoyed breath. "Because if you haven't noticed, captain, this is a nasty galaxy full of scum-bag men like Skavak. And I know it sounds trite, but it wouldn't hurt for us girls to stick together. I also don't feel like moving my stuff." She nodded to the cargo.

"And what is all this stuff?"

"So many questions, captain," Risha teased. "I promise I'll explain everything. Eventually. For now I just want you to consider me as your co-pilot."

Junaida gave the other woman an uneasy look. "I will. Consider you, that is."

"Thanks," Risha replied coolly and turned her attention back to the datapad.

* * *

Vondo cooked them dinner; algae steaks and some orange vegetable thing that the vendor had recommended. They all ate in silence, and nobody touched the wine. Junaida felt strange eating with her father, who'd just seen her stick a detonator to a man and watch him explode, and Corso, who'd seen her throw up after her first kill. The apartment was too silent, and thoughts she'd been trying not to think weighed on her conscience heavily. She pushed them away one more time and glanced at the bottle of wine, but even she knew better than to expect any help there. It wouldn't be worth the concern in her father's eyes, and that was already crushing enough.

"I was hoping Maraik could join us," Junaida asked conversationally. "But I guess he's got better things to do," she complained. Maraik attended the Republic Forces academy on Coruscant, fast-tracking the career in the military he'd wanted ever since he was little. He was fiercely proud of being in the academy, which was hard enough to get into, about which Junaida had always teased him relentlessly like a dutiful older sister.

Vondo simply smiled. He looked tired again and chewed his food with a vacant stare until Junaida asked the question. "He holo'd in to say he was sorry to miss dinner," he explained. "He's got mid-term exams tomorrow he doesn't want to study for. I told him to come for an hour and take a break, but he said it'd be too hard to get back to work if he left the library before midnight."

"And you're sure he's not adopted?" Junaida teased.

"Good kid, Maraik," Corso said approvingly then blushed. "I mean, Juni's a good kid, too."

Vondo laughed, reaching across the table to ruffle Junaida's hair. "This one? She's all right. Scares her old man sometimes. You see this gray hair? That's all Juni." Despite his light tone, Vondo looked serious, morose even. Junaida felt her eyes itch. Sith spit, if she made her dad cry she was going to lose it. What would Corso think of her then? She was a terrible child. Why couldn't she have just been happy to fix circuits and go into academia or advertising or the public sector or become a shop-girl or something mundane and safe that didn't make her dad smile like that, like he was sad and proud at the same time, and terribly, terribly afraid.

He changed the subject quickly, and that expression vanished. He poured himself a glass of the wine. "I'm leaving for a while," he said lightly and then teased, "If something goes wrong I won't be around to help you out."

"Where are you going?" Junaida asked, pretending not to hear the disapproval in his voice.

"Business," he said simply.

"Funny, I just made a new business arrangement, too."

"Does that mean you're hiring her?" Corso asked cheerfully from across the table. "You'll take Risha on?"

Junaida nodded slowly.

"I think it's a good call," he went on. "I couldn't pilot a ship to save my life, and I think we'd all feel safer with a real person at the helm than a droid. Besides, she seems harmless enough."

"The worst always do," Vondo pointed out.

"I think she's safe," Junaida mused finally. "She's much too vulnerable to be anything less than one hundred percent up front."

"I think you're misunderstanding what brings people to lie," Vondo once again chimed in.

"I like her," Junaida confessed honestly. "Any girl who looks down on Skavak has got to be a good friend."

Vondo gave her a look that Junaida was keen to avoid. She returned her gaze to her plate and worked at mopping up some leftover juices with a piece of bread. Once again, the table fell silent.

"I'll clean up," Junaida offered.

"Thanks," her father said. "I've got to pack, anyway."

"When are you leaving?" she asked.

"Tonight," he told her. "I'd wait until morning to see you off, but I don't have a lot of time."

"Mom's not in trouble, is she?"

"Oh, I'm sure she is," Vondo told her exasperatedly. "But this is smuggling business. Not Tormaris business, but Talon business."

"I was going to say, aren't you retired, Mr. Talon?" Junaida teased. "Anything else I don't know about? Do you have a second family on the outer rim?"

"Ha ha," Vondo drawled. "Fake names are just a part of the job. I suggest you hit up my slicer before you leave. You won't get far without at least a few good aliases to get you through security. At least once Junaida Tormaris is flagged and you start getting detained at customs stops."

"Things to look forward to," Junaida remarked with only half-mocking cheer.

"So you're serious about this?" Corso asked, dark eyes surveying Junaida carefully. "Now that you see what it's really like?"

"I am," Junaida replied earnestly. "I know you both think I ought to know better, but I _do_ know better. I know what most people consider to be better is just the same old lies dressed up nice. I'd rather get my hands dirty than deny what I'm a part of. At least this way I make my own calls as much as possible."

"Sometimes you don't get to make a call," Vondo told her. "Sometimes you've only got two options and they're both crap. A lot of the times there's no blasterfire, and that's a good thing. Sometimes there's no blasterfire and that's a bad thing. Sometimes you get screwed over. Sometimes you don't get paid. Sometimes you forget what real food tastes like."

"I got it," Junaida assured him calmly. "I've screwed up plenty already. I've gotten a taste of failure. It smells like prison on Ord Mantell. I still want to do this."

"Then I give you my support," he said. "I know your mother gives hers too."

"You're joking?"

"You think we're not a little flattered you want to go into the family business?" Vondo teased. "You know what's in store for the rest of your life. Your mother and I, we're the best case scenario. I can give you the names of a dozen dead friends if you want to know what anything less than the best turns out to be."

"No thanks," Junaida replied, getting to her feet and gathering the empty dinner plates.

"I've asked Corso to stay with you."

Junaida paused. Corso had his eyes trained on his glass and didn't look up.

"And?"

"And he says he'll think about it."

Junaida nodded. Corso didn't look up. "Thank you, Corso," she said, "For thinking about it."

Corso looked up finally but remained silent. He gave a curt nod then took a long drink from his already empty glass.

Junaida brought the dishes to the kitchen slid them into the machine. From the dining room she heard the rumble of conversation resume, but she couldn't make out what was being said. It went without saying that she didn't like her father implicating himself it her choices, but she also knew that he was right about everything. She should have asked Corso to stay on herself a long time ago. She wondered if he thought she was ungrateful?

Junaida stood staring at the washing machine as it quickly washed the dishes and pushed them back out. Junaida removed them and put them away. A few minutes later Corso came in to refill his empty water glass.

"I wanted to mention," he said tentatively, standing stiffly beside the water outlet, "I _am_ thinking about joining you. Seriously, I am. But there's one condition."

"What is it?" Junaida asked quickly.

"That you ask me yourself," he replied, leaning against the counter. "Look, I've joined up places to keep my friends and family out of trouble before. Heck, it's the reason I picked up a gun in the first place, but I learned the hard way that you can't look after someone who doesn't want looking after, and you can't help someone who doesn't want you around."

"I _do_ want you to come with me when I go," Junaida said, though the words were tough to get out for some reason, and it felt like chewing bitter pills and she didn't know why. She didn't like to ask for things. How could she ask someone to risk their life for her? Especially someone too good to say no. Of course Corso would say yes if she asked him. But why? Out of duty to her father? "It makes sense. I can't go it alone."

"Sure," Corso replied, dismissively, "But do you _want _me to come with you? You and I both know you need someone watching your back. Everybody does. But if I'm just a hired gun to you, I'm out."

"No," Junaida protested. "You're not, I promise." She took a deep breath. "You're a friend."

Corso smiled and clapped her on the shoulder. "There we go," he replied. "And?"

"And?" Junaida balked then sighed. "You're a friend and I want you to come with me because I like not dying…and having you around."

Corso laughed heartily. "And?"

"And...I want you to help me not die, and I'll try to help you not die, too."

Corso continued to laugh to himself, finally holding out a hand for Junaida to shake. "It's a deal then, friend."

"What's a deal then?" Vondo asked, stepping into the kitchen with a fresh bottle of Alderaanian wine.

"We're going to go not die together," Junaida explained sunnily.

Vondo shrugged. "Sounds like as good a plan as any. Here, Corso, I'm entrusting this to you. It's from that trip I we took to Alderaan years ago. I remember I'd let you drink some of the wine we got out of that deal as soon as you could grow a beard, but you took off for the war before that happened, so I figure you've more than earned the whole bottle. Besides, wine makes deals go over smoother."

"Well, we did just make a deal," Corso announced, reaching for the corkscrew.

"And you've got another one to make first thing in the morning," he reminded his former protégé. He handed the bottle to Junaida instead. "See that this gets aboard your ship, but it's his, not yours, understood?"

"Understood," Junaida confirmed. "But don't forget, he takes orders from me now."

"Wait a minute, that wasn't part of the deal," Corso protested.

"Corso, do not take a single order from my child," Vondo instructed sternly. "She takes too much after her father. She's likely to get you killed."

"But dad, didn't you hear we _just_ made a deal to not die?"

"Then keep your words to one another," he told them sternly. "I'm going to pack. I'll say goodbye before I go."


	9. Chapter 9: Past and Premonitions

**Chapter 9: Past and Premonitions**

The others were asleep by the time Vondo was ready to leave, so he said his goodbyes in holo form and tried to forget about what he'd seen that day. The kid he'd picked up on Ord Mantell and the baby girl he'd brought into the world had killed a handful of mercenaries in a hangar bay not a hundred clicks from his home; the apartment he and Shannin had bought when they had thought they'd be done with shooting and killing and subterfuge. He thought of Junaida's expression as the detonator had exploded, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. He couldn't even name it. And he also couldn't put his finger on how he felt about this all. It wasn't like he hadn't set his own fair share of detonators.

And then there was Skavak, and Vondo knew more about Juni's business with the scoundrel than he let on. He may be a cheat at cards, but subterfuge, and elaborate deceptions had always been beyond him. He always thought Junaida was just like him, but he had seen bits and pieces of her mother, Shannin, in her today, and he wasn't sure what Junaida would say if he told her so.

The comm chirped as Vondo brought his ship out of orbit and began to program the jump to hyperspace. His co-pilot, a dark-furred wookiee named Bowdaar, was asleep in his berth. His post-retirement ship wasn't so complicated that it required a co-pilot, but of course Bowdaar was more than just a co-pilot. A long time ago, Bowdaar and Vondo had made a promise to help each other not get killed in much the same way as Junaida and Corso had.

Vondo brought up the message on the display, hoping for a minute that it was word from his wife. It had been over twenty four hours since she'd checked in. After their mutual retirement they had made a pact, that if either of them was on the road for an extended period of time they'd send the other an all-clear signal every twenty four hours. Of course, before that he'd been forced to go months without hearing from her. One time it had been a full year. They had both lived in the shadows then, but her shadows always seemed deeper. That was the Empire's doing, the legacy of which they had yet to be completely rid of.

The message wasn't from his wife, but rather his youngest daughter Alsina, a student at the Jedi academy on Tython. She didn't normally contact him. Vondo wasn't sure if she was even _allowed_ to contact them. Jedi weren't even supposed to remember their parents, let alone visit them once a year, or holo them once every couple of weeks. Actually, it was usually Vondo and Shannin that had to initiate contact with Alsina, sending her monthly status updates via holo, and receiving them in return.

Vondo's concern deepened when he saw that the transmission was live. These were rarer than corusca gems. He accepted it, and Alsina's image swam into place on the console projector.

"Hi dad," she called softly, her voice distorted by millions of parsecs of distance and more than a few malfunctioning buoys along the way. There was no image, just voice. Vondo closed his eyes and pictured Alsina's face. What did she look like now? She was fourteen now, but she'd been born with a serious look in her gray eyes. She had brown hair like her mother, but had she cut it? Was she wearing it braided? Had it grown? Had it grown even darker? She'd been blond when she was a baby, like her mother had been. Shannin used to braid it in Alderaanian fashions. She'd spend hours on Alsina's hair. Junaida had never been able to sit still like that. All Vondo could picture was Shannin's face, and his stomach lurched when he realized that he was forgetting what Alsina looked like.

"What's the special occasion?" Vondo asked, halting the hyperspace countdown temporarily and swallowing the emotion rising in his throat. First Juni and now Alsi.

"It's not so much special as it is urgent," Alsina's voice replied.

"Oh?" Vondo remarked. "What's happened?"

"It's not so much happened as going to happen. Maybe," she qualified. She was silent for a moment, and Vondo heard her take a deep breath. Was she in her quarters, or was one of her Masters watching over her shoulder? "I've been having trouble sleeping. I see things, not things really, but feelings. My teachers told me to trust these feelings, so I am, and I think you're in danger." Alsina almost sounded cheerful, proud of her discovery and her abilities.

"Danger?" Vondo repeated. She wasn't cynical like Junaida, or at all jaded, but then again she'd been raised by both her parents together since birth for as long as they could before letting the Jedi take her. To Alsina the world was full of endless possibilities and unmarred goodness. At least until now.

"What do you mean?" Vondo repeated.

Her silence weighed on him, but then she said "I can't really explain it. Are you at home?"

"No," Vondo admitted. "I'm heading out for business."

"That's not good," Alsina said sternly, the cheer draining from her voice. Was she afraid? Jedi weren't supposed to feel fear, but she was just a little girl. It was supposed to be a father's job to stop her from feeling afraid.

"Well, I've got to," Vondo explained. "Just a little road trip," he said dismissively. When did his youngest child get so serious?

"I know you do," Alsina ceded with a heavy sigh. "I know nothing I can say will change that just...be careful, all right? I've got this terrible feeling what wherever you're heading, you're heading into trouble. Is mom with you?"

"No, she had her own business to attend to."

"Oh," Alsina said, sounding crestfallen.

"I'll be careful," Vondo promised with a tired smile.

Alsina nodded. "I've got to go," she said suddenly. "Just remember to be very careful. I'll holo home soon, I promise. Will you send me a holo, too? And be careful!"

"I will," Vondo promised with a laugh that he hoped wouldn't make her think he wasn't taking this seriously, because he was.

"I love you!" Alsina called before switching off her transmitter. Vondo then powered the comm and checked the signal coordinates. Tython. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he'd rather believe that the message was a dupe than think that his daughter had actually foreseen his doom. He didn't want doom. He wanted to do a little work and make a little extra cash and slip back into his comfortable retirement on Coruscant. Maybe he'd even persuade the wife to take a little vacation. It didn't take a Jedi to know they could both use it. Retirement, it seemed, was a lot more stressful than either of them could have predicted.

For the moment, Vondo decided not to over-think Alsina's warning. He wasn't going to turn the ship around, nor did he think that would help. Instead, he resolved to keep his blaster on him at all times once he arrived on Nar Shaddaa. Of course, no one in their right mind would walk onto Nar Shaddaa unarmed.

* * *

Vondo met Shannin on Nar Shaddaa during the cold war when he was at his worst and she, for the first time, had found room for her best in what she did. He was half a million credits in debt to Drooga the Hutt for a job that had ended badly, and since the Republic had yet to offer him a job let alone amnesty, he had several warrants for his arrest floating around the galaxy. This made Nar Shaddaa the best and the worst place for him to be. The Republic wouldn't find him here, but Drooga would. Working as a lone wolf at that time meant that he had fewer ways to split the profits, but also no one to help him when he needed it. He hid out in Bleeder territory, working odd jobs as he tried to save up enough credits to fuel his ship in order to do a _real_ job in hopes of earning back the credits he owed Drooga. That is, if Drooga wasn't going to charge him interest. Vondo was almost certain that Drooga would, just because the putrid old Hutt could.

Most half-wits knew to stay out of Bleeder territory, but there were always a few, Vondo included, that thought they could handle it, or that their enemies wouldn't be crazy to follow them in. Vondo could protect himself, or at least he'd been able to so far. Other folks were not so well armed.

One was an Evocii, sliced open, dissected, and then left to die one kidney short. Two women stood over the dying alien, one of them a Rattataki in heavy armor looked bored, while the second tried desperately to perform first aid. She had a veil on, the kind assassins often wore attached to their helmets to hide their faces when they killed their victims. But she wasn't executing anyone right now. For some reason, this assassin was trying to save the life of an idiot Evocii that had wandered into the wrong part of town.

Vondo hesitated. He hesitated for a long, long moment, and then his conscience kicked him and he ran forward, out of the shadows he'd been calling home, and pulled out the med-kit attached to his belt. He was trained in combat medicine, a relic from a past he'd like to forget. He hadn't used these skills in a long time besides patching up the occasional blaster-burn or sprain on himself. He'd never administered to anything this bad. Not since Belsavis.

There was blood everywhere, blackening the Evocii's clothes as he screamed for help. Vondo shouldered the woman out of the way, dosing the alien with a painkiller that immediately caused him to relax. The woman's hands were shaking and bloody.

"I—" she began, "I couldn't find the artery. I don't know where the artery…on an Evocii."

The Rattataki chimed in with a mocking drawl, "We killed dozens of these on Hutta. Why so sentimental now?"

Vondo saw a flash of something pass across the woman's eyes, but then his attention returned to the work at hand. He found the artery, pinched it, tied it, closed the wound, and stapled it shut. He flooded the area with kolto then tore a strip of gauze from his kit. "Help me with this," he ordered.

The woman jumped to obey. They bound the Evocii's midriff with the gauze, which turned red instantly, but not with fresh blood. They'd halted the damage, and now the alien would need a real doctor.

"Do you have a speeder?" he asked.

"No, but I can get one," her accent was Imperial, her tone frightened. Vondo felt a pang of something. Fear? Regret? The woman motioned to the Rattataki, who drew her blaster and jogged in the direction of the nearest Bleeder hidey-hole. There would be speeders there. But could the Rattataki manage alone?

"She's capable," the woman told him, but now her accent had changed. The cool gray eyes peering back at him from above the veil were no longer filled with panic and fear. Instead, they were just...empty. "Thank you," she said.

"What's this Evocii to you?" Vondo asked indelicately, checking the alien's vitals with a palm-sized scanner. Stable.

"A life," the woman replied evasively. "Isn't that enough?"

"For an assassin? No," Vondo retorted.

"Who says I'm an assassin?"

"Everything about you," he told her, giving her a brisk nod. "Your clothes, the way you move, your total inability to perform first aid."

"Oh yeah? And you're a doctor, then?" she snapped. "The gun in your holster is just for looks."

Vondo smiled. "This is Nar Shaddaa, honey. Teachers carry firearms."

"I still bet you put more holes in people than you patch up," she insisted. Her veil fluttered with the force of her words. So what if she was right. The sound of an engine filled the narrow corridor. The Rattataki returned riding a speeder with just enough of a cargo platform at the back to strap on the wounded Evocii.

"Boss," she called. "I've got friends on the way. We might wanna make this quick."

Vondo helped the woman strap the Evocii onto the speeder, taking care not to rupture the fresh plasma-staples. There wasn't enough room for four. Vondo watched the woman mount up behind the Rattataki.

"Hey!" he called, heart suddenly hammering. "You owe me!"

She threw a small square coin at him. Vondo realized it was token for a drink at one of Nar Shaddaa's many cantinas. "Eight o'-clock," she shouted. "If you survive those guys."

A handful of angry Bleeders sprinted up the corridor, weapons drawn. Vondo sighed and gave the woman a nod, stilled his nerves, and drew his blaster.

* * *

"I've got a job for you, Vondo Ra'lon," the woman said later at the White Nexu bar under the flickering light of a holo-dancer. "Consider it my payment for helping me earlier."

"A job?" Vondo asked. His left elbow burned where he'd taken a hit from the mob this woman had led straight to him. He had a kolto patch on it but no painkillers, but he wasn't about to admit that right now. "What kind of job."

"A smuggling job," she told him. "I know who you are, what you do, and that _normally_, you're pretty decent at it."

"If you know so much, you'll know I'm as broke as they come right now," he explained. "I can't even fuel my ship."

"I'll pay in advance," she told him. She wasn't wearing the veil today. She looked relaxed, spoke in a flawless Republic accent and was dressed like your average spacer. Everything about her was forgettable. The blank expression on her average-looking face, the loose-fitting clothes, the dull brown of her hair. Only the knife at her hip gave away the fact that she was in one of the galaxy's many violent professions. Maybe she really was just a spacer. Maybe the Imperial accent he'd heard before was just his ears playing tricks on him. Maybe the assassin's gear was just a get-up. She had a scar on her chin, an old one that kolto couldn't erase. Or maybe it was a fake. "I owe you something for helping save that Evocii. I mean to pick you over the million other smugglers on this moon to do an easy job."

"How easy?" he asked. "And if it's so easy, why don't you do it yourself?"

"Because I've got better things to do," she said defensively, then added, "And because I can't be connected to this cargo."

Vondo frowned, leaning back into his chair and ordering another drink he assumed she'd pay for. "What is it?"

The woman reached into her pocket and removed a small device about the size of a fingernail, flicked it on, and set it between them. It was a jammer, interrupting any small listening devices that might be near them. No, she was definitely not just some spacer. "The cargo is a child," she told him softly. "A Force sensitive child from Nal Hutta."

Vondo's stomach squirmed. Live cargo? Live sentient cargo?

"You know what happens to Force-sensitives in Empire territory," she told him bluntly. "This child's father asked me to get him off Nal Hutta and out of Imperial space. I got him off Hutta, but my pilot ran into some trouble that has prevented the child's transfer off world. The child is in a hotel room a few blocks from here, scared and alone. I need someone I can trust to get him somewhere where the Sith can't find him."

Vondo was silent for a moment. "And you trust me?"

The woman gave him a muted smile. "As much as I can trust anyone, which is to say not very far, but I trust that you'll do this job. You have a good heart, _and_ you're in need of credits. I can appeal to both of those sensibilities."

"How much?"

"Enough," the woman told him. "How far can you take him?"

"All the way to Coruscant for the right price."

"Done."

"You haven't even asked my price."

"You know I'll pay."

The server arrived with Vondo's drink. He took a long sip, relishing the warmth of the alcohol on his tongue. "You seem to think we know a lot about one another. I don't even know your name."

"Shannin," she replied after a moment's hesitation.

"Is that even your real name?"

"It is," she told him. "It as a foolish thing for me to tell you, but I trust you. I'm not supposed to trust anybody, but for some stupid reason I trust you."

Vondo set his drink down and took a deep breath. He was tired. Mentally and physically. Emotionally drained. Being broke was like being naked. No matter where he went he knew that he had nothing; just a ship with a dry belly parked in a hangar he could no longer fly to because he didn't have the cash for the taxi. When he looked a Shannin, he thought for a moment she understood this feeling. He dismissed the thought. "That was foolish," he told her. "But it just so happens that you _can_ count on me."

She passed him a credit stick. He checked the amount and then pocketed it, his heart racing. It was twice what he had expected the down-payment to be. "You'll receive that much again when the child's uncle collects him on Coruscant. It won't be from me, but the boy's family. It's the payment that was supposed to go to me."

"Awful generous of you," Vondo told her, "Giving up your share like that."

"There is no fate I envy less than that of the Force-sensitives of the galaxy," she said somberly, rolling her small drink glass between her fingers before lifting it to swallow the last sip. "I will do whatever it takes to keep children out of the hands of the Sith—and the Jedi. Money is inconsequential when it comes to that."

Vondo nodded slowly. "For what it's worth I agree. But still," he said, raising his glass to her. "Next time you're on Nar Shaddaa, let me know, and I'll buy you a drink."

Shannin gave him one open, unguarded smile. "It's the least you can do."

When she got up to leave, Vondo called after her sentimentally, "You really _can_ count on me, you know. To get the kid to Coruscant." He added in a lower tone. "It's good to know that not all Imperials are dogs."

Before he could blink a knife was at his throat. He saw her draw it, but it was like he was dreaming; rooted to the spot and unable to do anything about it. He felt its keen edge rasp against his skin. "Don't think for a second that you know anything about me," she hissed into his ear. "There is a difference between an Imperial and a Sith, one you'll be lucky to never have to learn. Remember that, fly-boy." She released the knife. Vondo raised a nervous hand to rub at the spot where it had been. There was a slight sheen of blood where the edge had cut, but his thumb barely came away red. He'd done worse shaving himself in the mornings. "And you still owe me that drink." Shannin gave him a smile, sheathed her knife, and turned her back on him.

He smiled, too.


	10. Chapter 10: Friends of the Family

**Chapter 10: Friends of the Family**

"It's a right shame we never ran into Skavak on Coruscant," Junaida remarked, taking a seat in one of the ragged chairs in her ship's common room, cradling a cup of caf hot from the processor. Order had been restored aboard her ship, and most of her things unpacked from the crates Skavak had tossed them into. Of course, Junaida _had_ seen Skavak on Coruscant. She'd seen quite a bit of Skavak on Coruscant, but she meant after getting her ship back. She would have like to gloat a little.

"Did you really expect to see him?" Corso asked, taking a seat across the makeshift table from her. He looked like a stranger wearing the new clothes her father had insisted on buying him. The unblemished white shirt and durable black trousers looked out of place on his dark, rugged form. He crossed his ankles on the table and glanced at her. If Corso knew that Junaida had slept with Skavak to get information out of him, he wasn't letting on. Junaida was glad. It had taken her far too long to realize that uncomfortable feeling in her gut when she thought of what she'd done was shame. It was uncharacteristic and Junaida didn't like it.

"Well sort of," Junaida admitted. "It's not really over until I get to shoot him. I mean, not to kill him. I don't want to kill him just...maim, you know?"

"Maybe sometime soon," Corso told her. "But it wouldn't be over, anyway. We're just getting started."

Junaida chuckled. "That we are." She took a sip of caf. "What do you think of the new girl?" While Junaida had initially and instinctively liked Risha, that judgment was proving harder and harder to justify. Risha kept almost entirely to herself and was alternately cold and over-familiar, and she always looked like she was in on some joke that no one else was good enough to be a part of.

Corso shrugged evasively. "She seems to know what she's doing, but I haven't decided if that's good news for us."

Junaida knew what he meant. Risha was impossibly hard to read. She reminded Juni of the girls she'd gone to school with on Coruscant—the ones who had wanted to thumb their nose at the countless hours of etiquette training and history lessons as much as she did, but had never done a thing. They were biding their time. For a little while Junaida had been content to bide hers as well, but those girls had never had a place for a girl like Juni. She might be from money now, but the moment they caught word of where her parents got their money—or rather, as soon as they figured out that the odds of a former field medic and a data-analyst having enough money to send their children to the top academies on Coruscant, they stopped calling.

Once she'd come to the conclusion that Risha was like the girls from the academy, she gave up trying to figure her out, and just kept her at arm's length the way those girls had always treated her. She knew it wasn't really fair, but until she knew something more about the strange young woman who had shown up on her ship, Junaida felt safer being unfair than overly trusting.

Risha had heard of a job on Taris, it seemed. Junaida wasn't keen on taking tips from someone she didn't know yet, but her father had done a background check on the employer Risha claimed to know, and told her it was solid and trustworthy.

Junaida had a new blaster she'd gotten from her father. It was slightly larger than the one she had from Corso, but it was old and needed regular maintenance. Corso told her this was a good thing, because it taught her to take good care of her weapons. He then related a rather graphic and gruesome story about a cousin who'd not cleaned his gun and blew his hand right of when the generator overheated and blew up. Junaida had teasingly remarked that he'd wounded her womanly sensibilities, but the remark hit home with Corso, and he hadn't stopped looking pale and apologizing for a day and a half.

It was day two now, and Corso still looked glum, but the caf had brought a little color to his cheeks.

"I'm really sorry," he said for what Junaida hoped was the last time. "I think...maybe I overstayed what was good for me on Ord Mantell. War-zones are tough places. You spend too much time in one and...you change. It's like a stain you can't get off."

"I'm sorry," Junaida offered gently, and decided to distract the excessively chivalrous man with work. "Hey, what do you say we head up to the bridge and sort through those IDs dad's man got us. I'd like to try one out."

"On Taris? Why, Junaida Tormaris have issues with customs there?"

Junaida winced. "Incidentally, yes. There was a...joke I pulled on a classmate when we came here with school. Volunteer work. The charges were mostly PR management if you ask me. I remember they had to give my name to customs. I'm not sure if it went on my permanent record or not, but I'd rather not find out the hard way."

"What did you do?" Corso asked, eyebrows arched.

"Didn't we agree not to tell disturbing stories anymore?" she replied with a wink. No, it was too soon. Corso paled again and began to mumble an apology. Junaida just rolled her eyes and led the way to the bridge.

Risha had barely left her quarters or the cargo bay since Junaida had retaken her ship, so she wasn't surprised to find the cockpit empty. They came out of hyperspace just as Junaida arrived, taking the pilot's seat and reading over her consoles. As programmed, they were around the side of Taris's moon, so sensor data was still spotty at best, but what was coming through was disconcerting.

"Did we take a wrong turn?" Junaida asked, frowning at her screens. "I've got readings on over a dozen Imperial cruisers."

"Is Taris under attack?" Corso asked.

"Not anymore," Risha's voice called from the entrance to the cockpit. "I just got bunch of messages from associates and official HoloNet broadcasts. Taris has fallen. Again."

"When?" Junaida asked, running her hands through her hair as her heart hammered in her chest. At best, it was minutes before the Imperial blockade noticed them and demanded credentials. Her head felt light. Corso had been wrong. Their adventures were already over.

"Stay calm," Risha told her. "Turn the ship around."

But before she could reach the controls, her comm crackled. "Imperial blockade hailing unidentified vessel on Taris approach vector. Requesting credentials."

"What do we do?" Junaida demanded. "Sith mother son of—oh!" She flapped a hand desperately at Corso. "The files we pulled from the computer when we did diagnostics. Get them!"

Corso scrambled to do as he was told.

Junaida took a deep breath and hailed the Imperials. "Copy that, Imperial blockade," she said in her best impression of the nasal, vowely way the Imperials tended to talk. She had practised that voice often in her childhood, as it was incidentally also the voice she and her siblings had used to mock their mother behind her back. For once, Junaida was grateful that her mother was an ex-Imperial.

Corso returned with the disk, which Junaida inserted into the console and skimmed through the contents quickly until she found what she needed.

When Junaida's ship was new, her mother had borrowed it once for some sort of secret business. Junaida knew full well that Shannin Tormaris was a former Imperial agent. She'd defected a long time ago, but the Sith Empire wasn't entirely aware of this. From time to time Shannin still did consulting, and from time to time Shannin shared the nature of that consulting with the Republic. Just like smugglers; spies never retired. Because of this, Shannin still used her Imperial credentials as a retired agent to get her places civilian credentials couldn't. If Junaida was lucky, those credentials would be among the desh-files they'd pulled off the computers before wiping them.

Junaida was having a very lucky day. "One moment, sir," she said calmly though her heart was hammering. She loaded up the info, and sent it over to the blockade.

"Received," said the voice on the other end. "Please hold your position and do not advance until we've processed the information."

"Copy, sir," Junaida replied, killed the comm, and leaned back in her chair.

"You're a very, very, lucky girl," Risha remarked through semi-pursed lips.

"We'll see," Junaida told her. "I really, really hope the Force is with us today."

"I'll settle for luck," Corso agreed. He seemed calm. Another effect of the war-zone? Nonchalance in the face of certain death?

It was almost half an hour later that the blockade finally got back to them. They were contacted on a different channel, and the voice that summoned them was different as well.

"Please proceed along these coordinates, Agent," another Imperial voice requested.

"Well, it's too late to run now," Risha grumbled, glancing at the two escort shuttles that had pulled up alongside them. They weren't heavily armed, but even weak blaster-strength lasers would be enough to overpower Junaida's completely unarmed little freighter. Junaida did as she was told, and the two imperial shuttles escorted them down to the planet.

* * *

Taris had fallen to the Imperials one day earlier. The attack had come out of nowhere and completely crippled the meager Republic defenses that were trying to rebuild a planet that had already been ravaged once. Nobody had expected the attack. Nobody had fully prepared for an all-out aussault, because even though the cold war had long since turned hot, Taris was such an insignificant, non-strategic target. Nobody thought the Sith would bother to go anywhere near it now that there were higher priority targets being openly engaged. But understanding the Sith was difficult at best. Trying to do so could drive a person mad.

What Junaida saw out the viewport as she brought her ship down into what was left of Taris' main spaceport was rubble, acrid clouds of vaporized steel, and pieces of ships caught in orbit forming little lethal clouds for any under-armored craft that dared pass through the atmosphere.

Imperial control had found a few safe ways into the planet which they kept debris-free, and Junaida passed down one of these at the front of a long line of ships, most of which looked to be legitimate supply ships, and she wondered just how much trouble she was in. Perhaps using her mother's ID had been a mistake. It would only take the Imperials a few minutes to realize that Agent Shannin Tormaris was quite a bit older than nineteen, did not normally fly a XS Stock Light, and most certainly had no business in a war-zone. She felt like she had just burst out of the escape pod, and into the void.

Their escort shuttles broke off and returned to orbit as they landed in a small bay at the spaceport. Junaida shut the controls down and told Risha to stash whatever she didn't want found should they be boarded and then hide herself too if she had any unfinished business with the Empire. Steeling herself, Junaida brushed off her flight clothes and extended the ramp.

When she stepped out of the ship she found two black and red-armored imperial soldiers waiting for her, but much to her surprise, their blasters were neither drawn nor pointed at her. They waited like patient dogs on either side of the ramp. A few meters farther stood a man dressed in long black and gold robes. He was tall and athletic-looking, with neatly combed dark brown hair and lined, dark eyes.

"We see," he remarked with the slightest tone of amusement. "As we suspected, you are not the Agent you claim to be."

"What are you talking about?" Junaida bluffed in her best Imperial tone.

The strange man smiled, but the smile was surprisingly warm. "No, but you are her offspring. Welcome to Taris, Junaida Tormaris."

Junaida's heart skipped a beat. "How did you..."

"We knew your mother, Junaida. In fact, there once was a time when we were quite...close. You needn't fear us. Unless we're much mistaken, your mother would prefer if you were not thrown into an Imperial prison for impersonating her." He smiled. Who was _we_? Was this some sort of Imperial royal we? "Our name is Vector Hyllis, diplomatic core, formerly of intelligence, more formerly diplomatic core. How is your mother?"

"Well, I think," Junaida replied, dropping the accent. "How did you know who I was?"

The man smiled. As Junaida approached she noticed that his eyes were not merely dark, but completely black, as though there was no iris, only pupil, and no whites around them. "Your scent," he admitted with a shrug, reaching out to clasp Junaida's hand in both of his own. "Though we suppose it might be more human for us to say you have your mother's eyes."

"I don't have her eyes," Junaida protested. "I have my father's eyes."

Vector Hyllis smiled but did not argue. "In any case, it's not relevant. We came to meet you because we wanted to see for ourselves who this agent was. It goes without saying that you will be safe here on Taris. We have no intention of reporting your little lie. You may travel freely here with Imperial authorization. We owe your mother that much."

Junaida's mind was racing. Those eyes were very strange, but she remembered something she'd learned in school a long time ago, something that her mother had told her as well. "You're a Joiner, aren't you?" she asked. "Of the Killik?"

Vector smiled a warm, pleased smile. "We are the Dawn Herald of the Oroboro Hive on Alderaan, serving both the Empire and the hive by being here on Taris. You have experience with people like us?"

"I lived on Alderaan," Junaida explained. "And my mother mentioned Joiners."

"But never us," Vector concluded. His tone was almost mournful but he continued to smile. "As much as that saddens us, it is understandable. We represent a part of her life that she tried to leave behind. We hope you will forgive us, but while we were most excited to meet you, Junaida Tormaris, we do still have matters to attend to. We have some things for you since you are not, in fact, the agent. Access cards that will allow you to pass through what is now barely Imperial territory—do not worry," Vector interrupted, reading Junaida's discomfort. "The credentials are neutral. No one will mistake you for an Imperial. Unless that is what you want?"

"No," Junaida replied instinctively then added clumsily, "No offense." She glanced at Corso to see how he was taking this. He'd been silent, wisely following her lead, but he looked as though he smelled something unappetizing.

"None taken," Vector assured her, also glancing at Corso now, but not seeming wholly interested. "We hope that you will say goodbye before you leave, and that we might perhaps have the opportunity to sit and talk over dinner, but I understand if you are too busy, or simply wouldn't be comfortable with the offer."

"I'll think it over," Junaida replied, as uncomfortable as the prospect did make her feel. The strange man smiled and gave her a short nod of a bow before leading the way down from the hangar. There was a taxi waiting outside. Vector shook Junaida's hand and gave her a lingering, contemplative smile that Junaida thought was more than a little sad, and then the Joiner-Imperial-diplomat took a step back and allowed Juni and Corso to get in, give curt directions to the pilot droid, and wave goodbye.

When they were clear of the fire-darkened spaceport Junaida lifted her gaze from the dashboard in front of her and took a look around.

Taris was a ruined world. Junaida had expected that, but around her, the young smuggler saw layer upon layer of destruction. Here and there droids, aliens, and humans crawled over the lacerated landscape like maggots over a corpse. Taris stunk of death and decay. The whole planet seemed to smell like a building whose foundations had rotted out and was slated for bulldozing any day. Then again, Taris had already been bulldozed once, hundreds of years ago when the Empire saw fit to completely raze the Republic planet, destroying everything and everyone on it in a series of catastrophic nuclear strikes. What had survived was the toughest of the tough—nexu, bog stalkers, and of course the Rakghouls. Some said they were men driven mad by the destruction they'd seen here, while others said they were an ancient indigenous race, but most agreed that they had been the result of a plague.

Junaida saw them too from the air, little gray-white herds of awkwardly loping beats, humanoid but less so than the holo-books had made them seem.

Still, all Junaida could think of during the journey was Vector Hyllis. The Killik Joiner, Dawn Herald he called himself, a Killik sent forth from the hive to see the world. He had seemed so familiar. He seemed to know her already—and of course he seemed to know her mother.

"Corso," she asked when they stepped out of the taxi onto the only half-ransacked neutral town called Outpost something. Everything on Taris was Outpost Something or Something Base. "Do you know Vector?"

Corso hesitated, checking his bags for his weapons and pulling on his gloves. "I do," he said finally.

"And?"

"Well, I never met him before or anything," he qualified, "But your dad mentioned him a couple of times."

"In what way?"

Corso shook his head, frowning as though he was trying to find the words to explain something he himself didn't quite understand. "I know he travelled with your mother when she was still with the Empire. They worked together, but I don't think that was all."

"What do you mean?" Junaida asked, but she already knew the answer to that question; the smile on Vector's face when he said she looked like her mother.

"Well, they were involved. I don't know the details," he said quickly. "I only know what your dad said about it. I know he didn't like it, but he figured she needed him. Vector, that is."

Junaida blushed. "You mean they were involved when she was with my father?"

Corso heaved a heavy sigh. "Things were...complicated. But yeah."

"Poor dad," Junaida mumbled.

"Yeah, he did have it fairly rough," Corso agreed, "Not that he was exactly a Jedi knight himself, but I think he was okay with it in the end. He said she needed Vector, and I think he felt guilty that he couldn't be there for her. He hated it, but he made his peace with Vector. I suggest you do too, especially since he seems to want to help you."

"So you trust him?" Junaida asked.

"Oh no," Corso shot back. "I trust that creepy bug dude about as far as I can throw him. He's Empire after all, isn't he?"

"And the way he says 'we'," Junaida added with a shudder. "All right. I say we finish up and get out of here pronto. That means checking into some sort of hotel so we can unpack our bags without attracting attention, and then look into finding our contact."

"That won't be a problem," Corso explained. "I know our contact."

"How?" Junaida asked.

"As soon as Risha gave us the address I knew. Your dad and I did some work here before, thinning out the Rakghoul population for some extra credits. She's an old friend."

"Well, good to know we're among so many friends here," Junaida grumbled. "Next thing, my brother's going to be telling me his friends from the academy are stationed just on the other side of the demarcation zone. There is still a demarcation zone, right? The Imperials have the planet as a whole, but there are still pockets of Republic Forces here, right?"

"Hey, you never know," Corso joked and nodded for Junaida to lead the way.

Junaida obliged, leading them through a shabby little village of freshly built, freshly destroyed buildings. The streets had already been cleared of rubble, and to Junaida's delight, the hotel they'd planned to stay at was still intact. Well, for the most part.

Half of the structure seemed to have been grated away by laser fire, and the other half was booked up.

"Sorry," said the tired-eyed Twi'lek who ran the front desk. "We're out of double rooms. You could wait until this evening to see if something opens up. A lot of tourists don't come back from their walkabouts, if you know what I mean."

"Rakghouls?" Junaida asked.

"That's one of many likely possibilities," he told her. "There's plenty of ways to die on Taris. Take your pick."

Junaida was afraid the receptionist would either start crying or start yelling so she put on a big smile and tried to be gentle. "No, that'll be just fine. We've got a therma-mat we can throw on the floor. Look, we'll even pay double occupancy rates!"

"Yeah, because that will help rebuild this hotel. It's a literal hole in the wall, you see that?"

Junaida gritted her teeth.

But Corso was smoother. "Hey," he said gently, leaning across the desk. "You've done this before, I bet. If there's one thing I know about Tarisian folks, it's that they don't let anything knock them down. Last time I was here, this town was nothing but an old name on a map."

"Sometimes I wonder if we just can't take a hint," the Twi'lek grumbled.

"On Ord Mantell we've got wars too," Corso began, leaning forward to meet the man's eyes. "And we get beaten down and we get our houses blown up and we say 'hey, buck up. If those folks on Taris can take it on the chin, so can we.' You guys are setting an example for the rest of the little folks in the galaxy. The wind'll turn."

"It better turn soon," the receptionist said as he passed them their key. "We're running out of hope and most importantly, we're running out of cash."

"It'll turn," Corso assured him.

Junaida gave both the receptionist and Corso a smile before heading down a long dusty hallway to their room. It was a small thing, with a single narrow bed with faded covers. Junaida threw her bags down on the floor and began rooting around inside of one of them for her therma-mat.

"Ah, what are you doing?" Corso asked.

"Setting up my mat," she explained. "You can take the bed."

"What kind of man would I be if I took the bed?" he asked.

"A well-rested one?" Junaida quipped with a smile. "Look, I don't mind."

"That's not the way I was raised, Juni," he told her.

"Because I'm a kid?"

"Because you're a lady," Corso corrected with a frown and a smile.

"So you don't think of me as a kid anymore," Junaida said with pride. "Is it because I shot that mercenary without throwing up?" Never mind thinking about it now made her want to throw up. It wasn't the blood, it wasn't the corpse, it was thinking of that man's family—the one he'd have or never have. Maybe he had a pet akk. Who was feeding it now?

"Of course you're still a kid," Corso teased. "But you're also a girl, and that means you will always get the bed."

Junaida rolled her eyes. "Fine, Corso. If it makes you happy."

"It would," he said with a grin.

"But if we're still alive this time tomorrow, I'm going to insist we rotate, because that would make me happy, and since I'm a girl, you have to do what makes me happy."

"I don't think that's a rule," Corso countered, but he was smiling. "We'll discuss that when we're still alive tomorrow, then."

"If Vector doesn't have our throats slit in our sleep."

"I don't think he will," Corso reassured her.

"Why not? You said it yourself you don't trust him."

"With my life, no. But he loved your mother. He won't hurt you, not when he thinks you've got her eyes."

"Which I don't."

Corso shook his head. "It doesn't matter, does it? So long as it keeps him from sending an Imperial hit squad after us."

"I guess," Junaida agreed. "All right. Get your guns out. It's time to meet your contact."

* * *

Vector Hyllis didn't have a pressing matter to attend to after seeing Junaida and her companion off. Instead, he returned to his temporary quarters in the newly-Imperial spaceport and summoned an agent he knew he could trust.

"Cipher Eleven, come here please," he requested.

The intercom crackled back the lilting accent of Cipher Eleven, the agent formerly known as Ensign Temple. "Am I reporting to you again all of a sudden, Moff Hyllis."

"Raina we have a...task for you, if you're not too busy."

"Just sleeping off my a few hundred credits worth of celebratory Corellian whiskey."

"We heard it was thanks to your work that we took the spaceport," Vector said patiently. "Your talents have only grown more impressive since the last time we worked in the same sector as you."

"And you've gotten yourself some new buttons on your coat, too," Raina replied. "But it happens I'm itching to get back to work. What's the task?"

"An individual has arrived on Taris that may require safeguarding. She's officially neutral, but if she takes after her mother she might prove to be a valuable asset for the Empire in the future."

"Oh?"

"You remember Agent Tormaris?"

"Cipher Nine," Raina confirmed. "How could I not. She's the reason I transferred into intelligence."

"The individual is her daughter."

"Oh." Raina sounded put out. "Has the agent requested help keeping her safe?"

"No," Vector replied hesitantly. "We only thought it would be a kindness if we prevented the offspring from being eaten alive on Taris."

"Vector, you know better than this."

"We do," Vector confirmed and felt a jolt of human shame while a hundred voices whispered at the back of his mind that his concerns were justified and his request an honorable one. We have joined with this woman. The bonds are weak. The offspring is connected to us, if only at the outer edges of the circles around our circles. All bonds are permanent. All bonds slip away. "Raina, please."

"All right," Raina told him. "But promise me you'll try to move on."

"We have moved on," Vector assured her stoically. "We have moved on eight or nine different times."

"Take care, Vector. Cipher out."


	11. Chapter 11: Tarisian History

**Chapter 11: Tarisian History**

Taris had been full of hope then. It had still been full of ruins and misguided settlers and Rakghouls, but the reconstruction efforts were in full swing, helped along by generous donations of funds and personnel from the Republic trying to reclaim its ancient foothold in the sector. Shannin Tormaris had been there to prevent this from happening, whatever it took. She was a young cipher agent, recently promoted, equipped with a generous financial award and the companionship of two strange beings, the Rattataki Kaylio Djannis and the newcomer, a Killik Joiner she'd dragged off Alderaan. A few months before Alderaan she'd met a young scofflaw on Nar Shaddaa who occasionally contracted for the Republic. The last time they'd met, she made him promises she didn't think she could keep, no matter how she wanted to. She had a duty to perform.

"You're agonizing over it again, aren't you?" Kaylio asked in that familiar disapproving, taunting tone as she scraped the last remnants of their meal from a can. The black markings on her pale face made her look permanently disapproving. Or maybe it was just that she always _did _disapprove of Shannin. The two had been close, then. It was an unlikely friendship, and a tenuous one. Right up until the end.

There had been no Imperial stronghold on the planet then, no hotel willing to take them in, so they had camped in caves in the foothills. The caves were less rock formations than there were ancient rubble; old durasteel containment walls broken down and overgrown, embedded in the planet like implants that an exhausted body hadn't bothered to reject.

Was she agonizing?

"Yes," Shannin replied honestly, stoking the little fire they risked starting just to boil their water to drink. Republic forces or Rakghouls could be on them in seconds if they smelled the smoke, but they couldn't go without water for long, and their survival kit had run out of sterilizer capsules a week back. They'd have to risk it.

"You know my opinion on the subject," Kaylio grumbled and gave Shannin a look of amusement. "It's a big galaxy."

"That's not the point."

"The point is you've got a guilt complex, agent," Kaylio told her. "I think it's funny, actually. It doesn't bother you what we do for a living, but it bothers you that you've got two men on the line who'd like to take you into the bushes for a good long go around. I won't say I'm not jealous, I just think you're being stupid about this, acting like it's such a bad thing."

Shannin chuckled. Kaylio was always colorful. At first she had found her way of talking abhorrent, and then she grew to enjoy it, but recently she had started to hear notes in Kaylio's speech that she hadn't noticed before. Notes of discontent, malice, and unrest. The woman was dangerous, but Shannin had known that from the beginning. She was pathological and unstable, but for the longest time she had been content to follow Shannin around the galaxy. So long as things were fun, Kaylio stuck around. Shannin hoped she wasn't starting to get bored with her, because that might mean that one morning Shannin simply wouldn't wake up.

"That's just what I think, of course," Kaylio told her. "But you want to know a fact?"

"Tell me," Shannin requested.

"Vulnerable agents are dead agents," Kaylio said. "Just ask any one of—oh wait, they're all dead." She looked pleased with herself. "You just got to figure out whether you're more vulnerable playing the martyr, or just eating the damn cake."

Shannin smirked. "You know Kaylio, for a woman to claims not to know much, you're very wise."

"Don't flatter me, pay me more," Kaylio told her.

"That reminds me," Shannin said. "Loot from those settlers we took down. I found something you might like."

"Is it a new pistol?"

"No, but it sparkles like one," Shannin replied and passed Kaylio a green gem the size of her thumb. "I think it's real. It should fetch a tidy sum on the black market. Unless of course you'd like to have it set into a tiara."

"Ha ha," Kaylio drawled. "And if it's not real?"

"Then I owe you one that is," Shannin replied, irritated, but not surprised.

"That you would," Kaylio agreed. "But on the off chance it's a while before we come across any more goodies, I'll settle for some stories, girl to girl. You know about what. Here he is."

Shannin shot Kaylio a hard look, but she could see the ex-diplomat passing through the mouth of their cave. He appeared quiet and contemplative as always, and impossibly distant. What Kaylio didn't understand was that it was a question of duty. Shannin did her job because it was her duty. She wasn't a murdering maniac; at least she didn't think she was. If someone had to be shot she did it because there was a reason to do it; she did it for the Empire. She'd made a promise. And now she'd made a promise—a foolish, idealistic promise to a pretty boy she hardly knew after one too many drinks—and now that was her duty, too. But duty wasn't a word in Kaylio's lexicon.

"Nothing to worry about," Vector reported, handing the infrared night goggles to Kaylio and taking a seat in front of the fire. "There's a pack of Rakghouls a dozen kilometers down-slope, but they seem to be following a Republic patrol, also moving away from us." He unslung his wood-paneled vibrostaff from his shoulder and set it behind him.

"Thank you, Vector," Shannin said softly.

"I'll be heading out then," Kaylio announced conspicuously. "Who knows, maybe there's another patrol that'll be moving through. I could use the target practice. I might be a while."

"Have fun, Kaylio," Shannin called as the Rattataki woman took up the second watch.

"Be safe," Vector called airily.

Shannin remained silent for a few minutes, just staring into the fire while she listened to Vector open a small ration can. It was dense foodstuff so it was more than enough, but it was hardly satisfying.

"What is it, agent?" Vector asked after a few more minutes. "Your aura perturbs us. Is something wrong?"

Shannin had forgotten about the Joiner's Killik senses. They seemed to feed him extra information, often erroneous, but occasionally chillingly intuitive, almost like that of a Jedi.

"We're sorry," he said quickly. "We forget that our Killik side makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it doesn't," Shannin protested half honestly. "Really. I don't mind. I find your Joiner history curious, but only because I understand so little about it."

"What would you like to know?" Vector asked her. "We would be happy to explain anything you like. It is the least we can do."

"Firstly then, why do you refer to yourself as 'we' all the time?"

Vector smiled. His black eyes mirrored back the light of the fire. "We call ourselves 'we' because we are not one individual, not since joining with the Killiks. We share the thoughts of all the other Killiks in our hive."

"So you have one mind?" she asked.

Vector shook his head. "Only the weakest minded Killiks can be said to have one mind. We have many minds. Admittedly, when you first found us we were nearing complete indifferentiation with our hive—but we have halted this process. We wish to remain, like you said, ourselves. Myself." The word seemed to taste strange to Vector. "It has been a long time since we were one person. But we feel it is important to tell you that we prefer this to how it was before. We safeguard our individuality even though we share minds with the other Killiks, but we cherish this sharing."

Shannin shuddered. "I couldn't imagine that," she murmured. "Having others in my mind."

"It isn't so terrible," Vector told her, leaning back against a moss covered durasteel fragment jutting up from the rancid earth. "Our thoughts aren't so much invaded as augmented. We are in constant conversation with those who would help us. And since joining, our senses have also been augmented quite beyond anything we could have expected."

Shannin felt herself blushing and hoped the darkness hid her. She thought of Kaylio's words and wanted to laugh. "I wanted to give you something," she said quickly, opening her satchel again. "It's just a little trophy from our last encounter. I'm afraid I gave the most valuable item to Kaylio."

"Understandable. She has been with you longer. She is your kin."

"Hardly," Shannin said and chuckled. "But I thought you might enjoy this," She drew out a small token inscribed in Huttese. "It's not highly valuable, but I thought someone as cultured as you are might appreciate it."

"It is a Huttese Courting Token," Vector observed, turning the hexagonal object over in his hands. "These are very rare, agent, and you are being modest when you say these are not valuable. We are...touched, agent. We only fear—" Vector cut himself off, running his thumb over the surface of the token. Shannin remained quiet, heart standing still, waiting to hear the Joiner's objection. "Shannin," Vector said softly. "We hope that you do not find us overly familiar. Cipher."

"No," Shannin assured him. "Kaylio calls me Shannin, why shouldn't you?"

"Kaylio has earned your trust over years of service. We have only recently come on board."

"Kaylio may have my affection but she may never actually earn my trust," Shannin replied. "And this is not the military, Vector. This team is built on personal relationships, not ranks to gradually ascend over time."

"You have given us beautiful things like this before," Vector observed. "We hope that this time we will not be remiss if we were to _show_ you our gratitude?"

"I would give you a hundred tokens a day if you would," Shannin replied hurriedly, hating how the words sounded as much as she knew they were true.

Vector pocketed the token and moved to sit beside her, removing his gloves and placing one hand beside her head before easing his mouth onto hers. He was warm and he was alive and he smelled like smoke and dirt and chemicals; like here and now, and Shannin felt her guilt and fear ease away, replaced by the persuasive pleasure of his lips.

"It doesn't pain us as much as we thought it would to break protocol," Vector murmured after releasing her.

"You're in intelligence now," Shannin told him. "Protocol is whatever we make of it out here." She slid her arms around the Joiner's neck and kissed him again. Vector leaned into it, pulling her onto his lap. It wasn't like when she had kissed Vondo for the first time. There was no fear, no desperation in Vector. Intelligence didn't care what went on between its agents. She wouldn't be shot if anybody found out, and neither would Vector.

"Agent, are you sure?" Vector asked hesitantly. Maybe he could read something in her aura, or maybe it was simpler than that. Her heart was racing but for a moment she had felt lighter, like a weight was being lifted, just temporarily, from her shoulders. It would return soon, heavier than ever before, but not yet.

"Don't call me agent," Shannin instructed.

* * *

Twenty one years later Shannin found herself back on Taris with a buzzing at the back of her brain and a dozen Imperial cruisers escorting her into the spaceport she had once blown up. The Republic had rebuilt it since then, and then Empire had blown half of that to char before planting their flag on the battlements and calling it theirs. The paint on the red-and-black insignias was still wet. Shannin had heard about the fall of the spaceport just before entering hyperspace, and while she hadn't exactly expected a warm welcome, she had not expected to be threatened with immediate vaporization should she fail to follow her ample escort into port.

"Command, what is the meaning of this?" she demanded irritably.

"Please send us your secondary credentials, Mrs. Tormaris."

Shannin swore under her breath and did as she was told. Command processed them quickly and got back to her

"Thank you, madam. There has been a security breach. Someone with your credentials arrived here two days ago."

"And did anyone verify who they were?" she snapped. She was in pain. Her head was throbbing as it had been for days. She needed to land soon and medicate.

"Yes, madam, diplomatic core verified. We may have to investigate."

Shannin sighed. "What kind of ship was I flying?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

"What kind of ship did the impostor have?"

"An XS something, a light freighter, I believe."

Shannin sighed and took a deep breath. "Commander, my apologies. That vessel was probably piloted by my daughter. She may have had my credentials in her computer and decided to use them."

The commander was silent for a while. "I've received word from the diplomatic core that this is so, and that the impostor is under Imperial protection."

"Confinement?"

"I've got a call coming through from the diplomat who verified the impostor. Here you are, agent. Moff Hyllus."

Shannin accepted the call, and Vector's image popped into place on her console. She smiled.

"Good afternoon, Shannin," Vector greeted.

"Moff Hyllus?" Shannin said with a broad smile. "I always imagined you'd be a Grand Moff by now."

"Oh, we are up for review," Vector informed her. "Apologies for the credential confusion. We thought you'd appreciate our preventing the destruction of your offspring."

"I'm very grateful Vector, thank you." Shannin sat down in the pilot's chair. "And I apologize for this confusion as well. I never imagined she'd actually use my credentials if I didn't wipe them from her ship, let alone that we might both be traveling to the same Imperial destination at the same time."

"She arrived just after the blockade was set up, she probably didn't even know what she was flying into."

Shannin shook her head. "What is she doing here?"

"We're not entirely sure," Vector told her cheerfully. "We thought ourselves unlikely to get a straight answer if we asked outright, but scans of her ship show two life forms in her hold, along with a lot of cold cargo. She left Imperial territory immediately after arriving, and while we haven't received a status report on her location today, we expect to have one by the evening. Perhaps you would like to join us for dinner, and we could discuss it then?"

"Status report?" Shannin repeated. "You're having her followed?"

"For her protection of course, and by an agent we can both trust."

"Raina?" Shannin asked tentatively.

Vector's hologram nodded. "She's followed in your shoes admirably. She was recently named Cipher."

"Only recently?" Shannin asked. "She deserves better than that. And her secret?"

"Safe as houses," Vector assured her.

"Not Tarisian houses I hope."

Vector smiled. "We have missed you."

Shannin felt uneasy, but the truth was that she had missed Vector, too. He had been a good friend to her, as well as much more. He had kept her alive, but also kept her from becoming someone who didn't deserve to be kept alive. She wanted to have dinner with him, to hug him and tell him he was a good man, even if she felt that his dogged loyalty to the Empire had outlived its charm, but she knew that it was best to keep her distance. Some old wounds were best kept under wraps. Besides, she had enough old wounds to deal with on this trip.

"I've missed you too," she told him levelly, "But the truth is that this business isn't exactly social. Nor is it business. I came to find the doctor."

"Ah yes. We heard rumors that he had returned," Vector told her. "We also heard rumors that he was on Belsavis."

"I checked there first," Shannin assured him. "His old contacts told me he came back here. I need to find him."

"Is it the old thing?"

Shannin nodded.

"We're very sorry," Vector offered. "We'll do our best to have him located for you."

"No need," Shannin replied. "I think I know where he'll be." Besides, if she let Vector help, she'd have to meet with him, and that would be awkward. She hoped Vector would sense that.

He seemed to. "Of course, Shannin," he replied. "We'll have you cleared for landing and assigned a bay. Take care."

"And you too, Vector," she replied. "It's been good to see you, even just as a hologram."

"Especially just as a hologram, we suspect," he said with a wink. "We had the good fortune of meeting your daughter," he said. "She seems to take after you."

Shannin grimaced. "That's what worries me."


	12. Chapter 12: Warriors of Taris

**Chapter 12: Warriors of Taris**

Taris was a mercenary's paradise. Everybody wanted something or someone dead, and nobody had it in them anymore to do the job themselves. With his blaster pistol slung over his shoulder hard to miss, Corso Riggs was a target for every desperate settler and burnt-out trooper. They didn't pay much attention to Junaida. As far as they were concerned, she was Corso's little sister, who was on world for the first time and not able to help them much. Neither of them had wanted to keep their Imperial-issue ID chips without modifying them. The only thing worse than being harassed by Imperials was _not_ being harassed by Imperials over an ID that wasn't even fake. They'd found a slicer in a bar and paid him to patch in new IDs over the real ones, and so far the subterfuge had worked on all the inspection points they'd passed.

"I didn't think they'd buy it," Junaida remarked softly after they passed through an imperial checkpoint. "We don't look much alike."

Corso smiled. "Let's just use Imperial ignorance to our advantage." Corso had made it clear how uncomfortable running around with the blessing of the Empire made him. He hated the Imperials, which seemed justified considering they financed the faction that had murdered his family, but Junaida's opinion began to change the more they saw behind Imperial lines. These men and women in uniform may be misguided, but they bled and suffered and fought just as hard as any Republican soldier. In her mind, Imperial ideology, while abhorrent, wasn't present in a person's body from birth, nor was it permanent. After all, her mother had defected.

But it was lucky for them that the Empire was not aware of this defection. If they were, there would be no slipping through checkpoints, and there were a lot of checkpoints to slip through, especially because their contact seemed to have moved. They were just about to give up when they stopped into one of the dingy little hovels that functioned as military cantina and repairs shop to the disheartened locals and what Junaida was sure were a few stray Republic soldiers who'd been trapped here when the front line rolled out.

Junaida was just working up the courage to try the local drink special, some pinkish sort of brew, when a small Cathar man slipped into the establishment, scanned the room, and approached them.

"You guys are looking for Beryl," the Cathar said, sliding onto a seat at the bar but not making eye contact with them. He ordered a drink. It wasn't pink.

"Maybe we are," Corso replied, quickly sizing up the Cathar. "Yeah, we are."

"She's in hiding right under the old address."

"We poked around the old address," Junaida told him, "We didn't find anything."

"You'll have better luck this time," the Cathar told them. "Look behind the broken console. You'll see it's been dragged there. The entrance is behind that."

"Thanks," Junaida said.

The Cathar nodded, downed his drink, and left.

She and Corso exchanged glances. Junaida shrugged.

"Just a shrug?" Corso pressed. "This is the break we're looking for. Any longer and even with our special clearance, the Imps are going to start to smell a womprat."

"I've got a bad feeling," Junaida told him. "But I've had a lot of bad feelings ever since we got here."

"That's hardly news," Corso assured her. "If you don't get a bad feeling from Taris, where _do_ you get creeped out?"

"Let's go," Junaida told him. "Before our contact moves."

* * *

"Drop your weapons," called the Trandoshan head-hunter, approaching Corso and Junaida with an automatic blaster rifle. If there contact had ever been at this location, they were gone now. The giant lizard-man had red skin and a string of trophies from his victims hanging around his neck. Junaida thought she spotted a human ear.

The Trando licked his lips "I get a bonus if I bring this one in alive, but I don't mind giving that up. I'm very lazy, you see? More for the Great Scorekeeper."

"Well then maybe we can work something out?" Junaida began, not sure where she was going with that line but not wanting that rifle pointed at her a second longer. A twitch of the finger and she'd be dead. Very dead. More scorch-mark than corpse dead.

"Everything's already been worked out, little girl," the Trandoshan said.

"So Rogun sent you?" Corso cut in. "You can tell him this was all a huge mistake."

"I won't be telling him anything except that I've got the girl. You, well, I don't know who you are, but Rogun doesn't care if you live or die, so I suppose die it is." He turned the blaster away from Junaida, but before he could get aim or take fire at Corso, a small blaster bolt tore through the cavern, punching a hole in the Trandoshan's trigger hand and knocking his weapon to the ground. It was all the distraction Corso and Junaida needed to dive for their weapons and put three more holes in the scaly alien's head. When that job was done, the two of them looked up to find their Cathar informant at the entrance to the blast-cavern.

"Give me one good reason why we shouldn't shoot you," Corso dared.

"I saved your life?" the Cathar offered doubtfully.

"Lives that wouldn't need saving if you hadn't sent us here in the first place," Junaida pointed out. "Talk," she said, leveling her blaster at the feline alien.

The Cathar put his hands up and sighed. "The Trandoshan paid me to get you here. Beryl paid me more to make sure you made it out alive. I'm no hero but...credits are scarce. I do what I'm told." He shrugged.

Corso lowered his weapon and gave the man a brisk, understanding nod. "I know that story," he said with sympathy.

"They maybe you'll trust me when I say I can take you to Beryl now," the Cathar replied.

Corso nodded to Junaida and only then did she lower her weapon. The Cathar heaved a sigh of relief and holstered his weapon. "My name's Jiv," he told them.

"I assume you already know who we are?" Junaida asked.

Jiv shrugged. "I don't ask questions. It's better that way. Just follow me."

Corso and Junaida did. They ended up back in town and followed the Cathar to the part of town where most of the buildings were still standing. He led the up the metal grate stairs to the third storey of one that looked like it still had four walls, and pressed the comm button.

"Jiv," a woman's voice called from within. "You have them?"

"Alive," the Cathar replied as though this was little cause to celebrate. "And unharmed, I think."

"We're fine," Corso called. "Barely."

The door clicked open and the three of them stepped in. The house was a nice one, sparingly decorated but painted a pleasant cream color only partially water-damaged from a small hole in the roof that had been half-heartedly patched up.

They were greeted moments later by a regal looking woman with short cropped graying hair and a ragged scar running across her face. She thanked Jiv for his services and passed him a credit stick before letting him leave. She then turned a warm smile to the newcomers, and opened her arms to embrace Corso.

Corso smiled nervously; a little uncomfortable, like a schoolboy before an old teacher.

"Corso, when did you grow up?" the woman, Beryl, remarked with a smile and motioned for them to both take seats. Junaida only did so once Corso had sat down first on one of the coral lounge chairs in the carpeted living room. Junaida felt like she should have taken her shoes off, but Corso didn't seem to notice the dirt they'd tracked in. "And you must be Junaida," Beryl said with a smile or her as well.

"I am," Junaida replied and forced a warm smile, the kind she'd been so good at growing up on Coruscant. Who was this woman? "How do you know one another?" she asked.

"Beryl and I go way back," Corso explained casually. "Back when I used to run around with your dad, we did some work for Beryl. She was always good to us."

"I'm fairly sure I owe you two my life," she went on and then turned to Junaida, rapt curiosity in her eyes. "How is your father?"

"Well, as far as I know," Junaida replied. "And how do you know Risha?"

"I don't know Risha," Beryl explained. "But she needs something I have, and can offer the services of her team in return. I didn't realize Vondo's daughter and Corso Riggs were her team."

"Well we weren't," Junaida explained abruptly, "Not until we accidentally killed her real team did she give us the job offer."

"It's a dangerous life, the life of a smuggler for hire," she told them. "I ran goods for a while, before I discovered that I'm decently situated to run a grounds operation. What I do isn't illegal, but sometimes I still hear of things to be picked up that need a little...firepower to do the job. Your father is actually the reason I was able to get out of strictly illegal business."

"Oh?" Junaida asked.

"He did a job for me once that ended well," she explained. "Gave me enough cash to go straight and do some good for Taris. That is, before the Empire blew most of my operation up. He was such a scoundrel, then. Is he still in business? I heard he had a daughter but I wasn't sure if he retired or not."

"He didn't really," Junaida explained. "Mostly though." For some reason Beryl's look made her skin crawl. Despite her gray hair, the woman couldn't be very old; not too far past forty. Her half-smile reminded her of Vector's. She added hastily and perhaps a little bluntly, "He didn't retire when I was born, but sometime after my brother and sister were born and my parents bought a house he got out of piloting."

Beryl caught the hint. "And here you are, taking over his legacy. On that note, I should get you the details on Risha's job. It's a fairly simple exchange. I have some goods that need to get to get picked up and taken to somewhere else. Before the Empire took the spaceport it was just a matter of dragging the stuff through Rakghoul territory and getting it to the people who can run it, but I don't have the firepower Risha's team does. That's you now I guess. However, now that the spaceport is under tight wraps, those goods have got to get transported through Rakghoul territory, _out_ of Imperial territory, and over to the Republic stronghold on the other side of the continent. The airspace is controlled, otherwise I'd say just fly in and grab it. You'll have to take a speeder. Once that's done, you'll have to make it back here to pick up your pay. Some old charts. I'm not sure what Risha wants with them, but if you're working for her I doubt you do either. She seems quite secretive."

Corso agreed. "She's a strange little lady."

"I've heard of her," Beryl told them, "Not that she has a record of double-crossing or anything, but I'm not sure I'd trust her."

"I do," Junaida said confidently, though it was more out of an urge to be contrary. She didn't like how famliar Corso and Beryl were being. She felt like she'd just switched on a holo-drama half way through and had missed a plot point or two.

"You sure about that, captain?" Corso asked.

Junaida shrugged. "She's got something to hide. So what. I'd be worried if she didn't."

"You two are welcome to stay here for the night," Beryl offered. "There are plenty of spare rooms."

Junaida glanced at Corso, defeated by Beryl's kindness. "We just need to go grab our stuff from the inn," he explained.

"Done," Beryl said quickly. "I'll have a droid swing by and pick it up. What's the address and code?"

Corso moved quickly to give Beryl their information while Junaida took in the rest of the room. It had been a bad day and the clean luxury of this house seemed to be at odds with it. She got the feeling though, that this was just a mood and had nothing to do with their host. In all fairness, Beryl didn't seem like she was planning to blast either of their brains out, but on a planet where most people might seem to want to, it was strange.

* * *

The cargo they had to pick up was an eight hour speeder drive across the planet. Junaida and Corso set out first thing the following morning after a fairly decent breakfast of protein packs. Despite her seeming wealthy from her living conditions, Beryl claimed that real food—the kind you had to prepare and cook and didn't come in shiny wrappers—was all but impossible to find on Taris, and that it had been that way for years. Constant war was doing little to help food production along on the mangled planet, not to mention radioactive soil in most formerly fertile areas and erratic weather patterns that changed the terrain almost yearly based on when and where and how heavily the capricious rains fell.

But where Junaida and Corso drove, the rains had made a forest out of the jungle of broken earth and buried skyscrapers. Moss grew on everything, and rare birds that had miraculously survived repeated annihilation circled above in the sky, and some of the structures they passed looked like new constructions. But then there was the prevalent Imperial presence. Until they passed the ever-changing border between the two factions, the red and black Imperial flag hung from every major building, and patrols were located every few hundred kilometers. It wasn't a heavily reinforced territory, but there was a lot of territory on Taris, and while this part was empty of targets, the conquering troops made sure to plant their flag where they'd advanced.

Around midday Junaida and Corso stopped for lunch, breaking out the protein packs and taking a moment to go for a short walk to stretch their cramped legs.

"How are you doing?" Corso asked, concern in his dark eyes.

"Fine," Junaida assured him, not entirely sure as to why he felt she needed checking in on at that moment. "And you?"

"Good," Corso replied neutrally. "It's strange to be back on Taris."

"It's a strange place."

"First time I came here, I thought it was the saddest planet in the galaxy," he said.

"You can find bits of Taris all over the galaxy," Junaida said dismally. "Little unhappy, desolate places. Moments. People."

Corso gave her a long, contemplative look.

"And also the opposite," Junaida piped in with forced cheer. "Happy little moments in the middle of war-zones."

Corso forced a smile right back at her, but it stuck around even as he shook his head. "Sometimes I worry about you, Juni."

"Why?" Junaida replied.

"You're still so young. Younger than I was when I started and—I know, I was technically younger, but sometimes you just seem so green."

Junaida swallowed down the last of her rations and turned to Corso. "Look," she said a little sharply, "I know you don't think that this is any kind of life to choose, but I _did_ choose it, and I knew what that entailed when I signed on. I'm aware that this kind of work isn't glamorous, it's just when I picture my future I can't picture anything else—that doesn't mean I don't think I have options. I know I have options, I just...I want this." She sighed. "Nobody works in teams anymore, Corso. You and I, we depend on each other, right? It's not like that in the nice white-robe jobs on Coruscant. It's twice as cutthroat as out here. There's plenty of Taris on Coruscant."

"I reckon there is," Corso agreed hesitantly. "Coruscant's got a way of making a fellow feel small. At least on Taris it seems..."

"Natural," Junaida finished for him.

"Yeah, something like that," he agreed.

After a few moments Junaida said, "I wanted to thank you again for coming with me. I'd be ten-times dead if it weren't for you."

Corso grinned and shook his head. "You've got to stop thanking me, captain. I seem to remember some mention of us both getting paid for this."

"Of course, of course," Junaida assured him with a smile.

"I'm just not used to being the most experienced party-member," Corso reminded her. "It takes some getting used to, and sometimes I get worried that I'm in over my head."

"We're definitely in over our heads," Junaida agreed. "But we can handle it."

"I don't think you understand the concept of 'in over your head' very well," Corso laughed. "But anyway. I'm glad I'm in this with a crazy person."

Junaida beamed. "Then let's get moving," she said. "Cargo's not going to steal itself."

The cargo they had to steal was currently in the possession of pirates, hence the need for a hit team to get it back. Originally, Beryl had discovered it buried in the Tarisian bogs and found a buyer for it pretty fast, but in between stumbling upon it and picking it up with a proper mover, pirates got there.

Taris was crawling with pirates. They were short time profiteers come to pick the bones of a skeleton of a planet, or former residents, continually searching for some trace of whatever history they thought they had here. Everyone felt they were entitled to Taris' remains. Saying who really _was _wasn't Junaida's job. Her job was simple. Pick up three crates of ancient cargo and bring them back to Beryl, exchange them for one antique navigation console and then leave.

Junaida glanced over at Corso as they got back into the speeder. He looked a little tired, but not unhappy. Maybe what he said was true, and he really wasn't used to being in charge. Maybe he didn't like it. As strange as that seemed to Junaida, leadership seemed to wear on Corso like a heavy load. That didn't mean he hadn't proved to be a more than competent leader so far, it just seemed to be taking a lot out of him. Junaida made a mental note to try and take charge more often when she thought she might legitimately be likely to not screw things up. Rarely, then.

And then behind Corso Junaida caught a flash of gray-white in the bushes. She put a hand on Corso's arm and nodded toward the foliage. Something was moving behind a scrubby little bush that grew between a rock and a moss-covered slab of durasteel. The creature squeezed between the bush and the rubble, its impossibly pale, humanoid face a jumble of scars and mud. It walked on all fours, but as it glimpsed them it rose onto its hind legs to survey them. It wasn't terribly tall, just short of five feet, but it was tall enough to give Junaida the shivers. Rakghoul. The creature was hairless, with translucent skin that showed the blue and green veins beneath, and shriveled genitals that made it hard to tell its sex, but as Junaida thought about the concept it occurred to her that Rakghouls didn't procreate the normal way. Legend had it they increased their numbers by infecting sentients—humans, in particular, though there had been records of Chiss being turned as well, and Mirialans and Rattataki. All other races were still prey for the Rakghoul—they just didn't leave anything behind.

The minute the creature rose up on its back legs and took a step forward Corso gunned the ignition, sending the speeder shooting forward away from the Rakghoul just as two more pale, disfigured creatures burst from the bushes.

"Where there's one there's always more," Corso shouted over the engine.

Junaida nodded, holding tight to side of the speeder and, she realized after the initial jolt of fear faded, to Corso's arm. She let go and apologized. Corso barely seemed to notice. His expression was grim, his cheeks a little ashen. "There are always more," he repeated.

"Right," Junaida agreed. "When I researched Taris, the holonet talked about them traveling in packs of four of five, normally not far from the main congregation."

"Except for the alphas," Corso added. "The biggest, meanest Raks will sometimes be on their own, but always near a congregation."

"So that brings me to my next question," Junaida went on. "Where's the congregation?"

The speeder rounded the corner of the lowland road. The swampland ahead was dotted white and gray with hundreds of Rakghouls.

"Question answered!" Junaida gasped, and reached for her blaster.


	13. Chapter 13: The Good Doctor

**Chapter 13: The Good Doctor**

Shannin hadn't expected Lokin to be alive still. He had been in his sixties the last time she'd seen him almost fifteen years ago. Modern medicine was good, but the old man didn't exactly keep out of harm's way. When they'd parted ways it had been because Shannin, pregnant for the third time by the man she had sworn to marry but never expected to keep, had announced her intention to retire from active service. Lokin had known what this really meant. Shannin wanted out of the Intelligence—not because she was old or worn out or too traumatized by the many things she'd done to go on, but because she wanted out of the Empire. She was turning her back on the world that had raised and employed her. Once, Shannin had done a triple-agent bit. Now the lies she had told about being an Imperial agent who wanted to go over to the Republic stopped being lies.

Vector had been surprisingly forgiving. Shannin was a blind spot in his unwavering loyalty to the Empire. He would never have followed her himself, but he had claimed to believe her line about retiring on Alderaan with her on-again, off-again husband in order to finish raising their first children, and be there from the start for the third. Shannin knew Kaylio would have disapproved of the whole thing, not out of loyalty to the Empire, but out of the stubborn and loud-spoken opinion that no man or child was worth leaving the game for. But Kaylio was dead by then.

Lokin had taken Shannin aside aboard her ship that day and locked the door. He had delivered her first two children, despite making it clear that this was not the sort of doctor work he found interesting, and he claimed that he needed to talk to her about her pregnancy. He drew a phial of her blood and ran it through a scanner.

"You know I could have killed you just now," he told her without taking his eyes off his datapad. "Poison tipped needle. You might've not even died for days if I did it right. No one would suspect a thing, but then I wouldn't get my due thanks, would I?"

Shannin hadn't been afraid. At some point during her long service she had stopped being afraid. "Eckard, if you wanted me dead, I'd be dead by now."

"Would you?" Lokin drawled. "Levels are normal. You've done this before, agent, only this time your maternity leave is permanent, isn't it?"

"A woman's place is in the home," Shannin drawled, repeating the words of one of her first Keepers, who had initially shown resistance to having a woman working as an agent. "And I'm tired."

"_You_'re tired," the doctor joked. "My dear girl if you're tired now it's lucky you're getting out." Shannin rose to leave but Lokin caught her by the arm. "But you're not getting out, are you? You're just changing colors."

Shannin jerked her arm free and took a step back, fixing Lokin with an icy stare. "I want my children to know my face," she snapped.

"Be careful," Lokin had said as she stepped out of the sickbay. "Sometimes mixing two chemicals together results in a change of colors," he called after her. "But other times things explode."

Two days of terse exchanges later, Shannin had dropped Lokin on Dromund Kaas where he had requested to be reassigned. A week later Shannin returned her ship to Imperial requisitions authority and watched them deactivate her high-level clearance, repossess nearly all of her weapons, and escort her to a debriefing that would last two days and involve more than a little torture. Nothing too intense, of course. She was, after all, a fragile pregnant female. On the morning of the second day she was released, no longer Cipher Nine, but just Shannin Tormaris; a smuggler's wife with a scar on her chin from a piece of shrapnel years before, and tape on her temples from where the probes had been inserted.

Those probes had been inserted to reprogram her mind; to rebuild the chemical structures of mind-control agents that had been introduced without her knowledge when she first entered Imperial Intelligence. During her time as a double-agent, before she became a _real _double-agent, the Republic had used the foundations laid by the Empire to reprogram her brain to make her incapable of betraying them, controlling her behavior with the use of key words that bound her to their will. Shannin had washed all of this away twenty years ago on Quesh, leveling her mental programming and building a new, blank foundation without any hidden controls or whispering voices.

Only the voices had come back.

At first she had thought that they were dreams. At first, after she'd only just removed the programming, she'd dream of Watcher X's voice, and she'd wake in a cold sweat unable to tell whether it had been her own mind of something _in_ her mind that had brought on the voice. It was a thin line there between those two options, and it was growing thinner.

It had started again only recently, about a month back, and for that month Watcher X's voice was the only thing she could think of. Shannin had freed Watcher X from the Imperial prison called Shadow Town on Coruscant twenty years back. He had been imprisoned not because of something he'd done, but because he was too important to the Empire to risk being allowed to live a normal life. Shannin had disagreed with this policy, and furthermore she had always been rather fond of Watcher X. He was the one who showed her how to overwrite her Republic programming, and he was the one that revealed that the programming was in fact Imperial to begin with. The Republic hadn't brainwashed her; they'd just re-programmed her brain.

Now that voice was back, to her, cutting in on her thoughts, nudging her to say certain things, to leave places sooner than she'd intended—always one step ahead of something. Shannin needed to know what that something was.

She'd gone to a doctor on Coruscant first, before she'd even told her husband what was happening. It might have just been Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or a Traumatic Brain Injury. Shannin had even hoped it was. PTSD and TBI's weren't uncommon—in fact, PTSD was almost expected in an individual that had seen and done what Shannin had seen and done. The shrink had told her that while she did have a degree of PTSD, she appeared to be coping appropriately, and beyond offering her a prescription for a sedative or the name of a support group for Republic veterans, one that Shannin would avoid like the plague, knowing full well that she was likely responsible for the trauma these people had suffered, the shrink had told her that there was nothing on the brain scans that indicated any physical or chemical concerns. The trace elements of the programming chemicals the shrink overlooked as a side effect of having toured on Quesh. All Quesh vets had them.

Shannin highly doubted that.

So she had gone in search of a doctor who knew what happened to her brain—one that wouldn't say she was insane if she claimed to have been brainwashed three times—once by her own hand at that. Shannin giggled at the thought of explaining that particular part to a doctor on Coruscant.

"Certifiably mad," she muttered to herself as she marched down the street of the Imperial outpost at the edge of the Tarisian foothills. Eckard Lokin's new "clinic" was supposed to be located a few minutes outside of the outpost, but Shannin knew better than to expect a working hospital. Lokin had never particularly taken to the profession of medical doctor. Instead, he chose to perform experiments on willing and unwilling subjects—most notably himself, in the hopes of managing something interesting. What Lokin found interesting, however, seemed to change from one moment to the next. He was a committed Imperial, if not nearly as dogmatic as Vector had always been. He served the ideology that funded his little experiments, which under Republic auspices would certainly have been considered inhumane. But Shannin had heard rumors about the Republics secret labs, too. Nobody had clean hands, not in this galaxy.

Lokin's interests made Shannin's skin crawl, but she also understood that what the world found disturbing one moment they could find revolutionary the minute they discovered an application for it. Lokin's crowning achievement was his ability to transform into a Rakghoul at "will," that is to say, with the help of chemical injections. When Shannin had last seen him, the doctor was experimenting with different ways to control the duration of when he became a bloodthirsty savage, as well as working on lessening the havoc regular transformations wreaked on his metabolism. Shannin had always wanted to ask Lokin why he didn't try to apply his chemical treatments to pre-existing Rakghouls, in order to try to return them to their former human state. Perhaps she feared the answer. Perhaps Lokin feared what the Rakghouls would say if they changed back. If he could change them back.

Shannin suddenly realized how alone she was here. Before, when the mind-problems had first begun she had still been a Cipher agent; traveling with a group of handpicked specialists she could count on to watch her back. Taris was where she'd first met Eckard Lokin, but the first time she had stumbled upon his clinic, she had been traveling with Vector and Kaylio, and of course thegrubbing droid that had come with—and been reclaimed alongside—her ship. This time it was just her.

And Watcher X's voice.

Much to Shannin's dismay the voice had stopped popping into the back of her mind since she'd left Coruscant. As relieved as she would be to be free of her condition, it was beginning to sound increasingly like she wasn't actually being controlled by Watcher X, but rather she was simply and certifiably mad. No programming, no conspiracy, just crazy. Broken. She would much rather have it that some galactic faction was trying to jailbreak the chemical programming in her mind and turn her into its puppet. _That_ she could deal with. That would have been like just another day at the office.

She found Lokin's clinic where it was supposed to be, tucked under a moss-covered set of old pipes that made the little hut nearly invisible. There was, however, a well-worn trail leading to the hut, which promised that Lokin had more company on a regular basis that he might perhaps like. She steeled herself, took a deep breath, breathed it out, and rang the doorbell.

* * *

"You shouldn't be here, agent," Evard Lokin grumbled, adjusting the belt of his heavy grey work coat as he moved to pour tea for Shannin. He smiled to himself. "Old habits die hard. You shouldn't be here _Shannin_."

Shannin forced a small, tight smile and accepted the tea, thinking back to Lokin's threat fifteen years ago. She made the rash decision to trust him this time just as she had trusted him before. If Lokin was going to kill her, he would satisfy his curiosity regarding the reason for her visit first, and _then_ poison her as she left. "I couldn't go to anyone else," she told him, watching him as she moved slowly to bring sweetener from the kitchen to the low, clear table where she waited. Lokin didn't look well. He had dark circles under his eyes and most of what had already been receding white hair had fallen out. All the same, he appeared to be in good spirits, and even smiled at Shannin through stained teeth as he took a seat at the table across from her.

"Well then, Shannin," he began. "What can I do for you?"

Straight to business. Shannin poured herself a cup of tea first, added sweetener and took a sip then launched into her problem. "I'm concerned that the chemicals responsible for my mind wash are still present and active."

"Of course they're active," Lokin replied quickly and dismissively.

"I'm concerned they're being used to compromise my mind again."

Lokin nodded now, studying Shannin's face. Maybe he was noting how she'd aged as well; the grays in her light brown hair, the lines at the edges of her gray-blue eyes. Everything about her had begun to fade a little bit. Almost to compensate for this, the former Imperial agent wore black liner around her eyes and red lipstick that transferred a slight smear onto the edge of her teacup as she took a sip.

"Have you been in further contact with mind-altering chemicals or apparatuses?" Lokin asked.

"Not since my debrief," she told him. "I'm concerned though that something might have been done then. I have no interest in being a sleeper agent."

"Nor are you," Lokin said with gentle confidence.

"How do you know?" she asked.

Lokin gave a small, arrogant shrug. "I asked around, I took a peek at the files of your debrief. Believe it or not, agent, when the Empire was done with you they locked that file and deleted the key. They're not interested in maintaining control over you. Don't flatter yourself."

He was trying to put her on the defensive. Shannin wasn't about to step up to the plate. "Well that's reassuring to hear," she said honestly. "That means that whatever's happening in my brain is likely unintentional."

"What _is_ happening in your brain?"

"It's just like before," Shannin began, leaning back in her chair. "Like when the Republic overwrote my programming, and Watcher X's voice came through to explain things to me. I know he was able to do that because of the chemicals he injected in me during the Shadow Town job, but I don't understand how it's happening now. We overwrote everything. The slate's been wiped clean."

"Brains aren't slates," Lokin reminded her, getting to his feet and motioning for her to follow him. "Come see this."

Past the kitchen and the dining room was Lokin's laboratory. Shannin expected to find the doctor's gruesome experiments here, and she was not disappointed. Chained to an operating table and hooked up to several different machines pumping a steady flow of chemicals through its veins was a Rakghoul. It was still now, but Shannin could see that it had been sedated. The skin around its restraints was raw and bloody.

"I can run him through the transformation once a week," Lokin explained. "It's a simple enough chemical procedure. I flush the Rakghoul chemicals that were the cause of his transformation from his system, replacing them with a typical, healthy human set. He reverts to human form. I bring him around, he can speak, but the trauma he has undergone is so intense that he immediately begins goes into seizure, his _own_ brain is so certain that he is a monster, that he becomes one. His body re-creates the chemical structure necessary for the Rakghoul form using trace elements already present in his system. Within a few days, he is Rakghoul again. Well, not _him_ specifically. The last three that I performed this transformation, it reverted to Rakghoul form again, then I'm afraid the stress was too much for them and they expired or had to be retired. I'm hoping this fellow will prove different. He's only been a Rakghoul for a short time, see. There," Lokin indicated to a bluish-red marking on the Rakghoul's chest that Shannin had taken for a bruise. "It's a tattoo. This individual was a member of Green Brigade only a week ago. He's only just been turned. It's my hypothesis that if he can retain his identity despite his transformation, he'll not resist the return to human form." Lokin was growing excited, clearly happy to have an audience for his work. Already he appeared livelier and less exhausted. "Would you like to see the others? I've also got a Rakghoul whose humanity we're trying to access while in Rakghoul form. You understand how useful these creatures could be if only they were somehow controllable like I am in my Rakghoul form. So far it only works when Rakghouls have previous chemical imprints in place before infection. We've managed to create quite the unit of sentient Rakghouls to use in heavily Rakghoul-infested areas. The Sith are also working with us to find us a Nekghoul or two. I might be getting a few Sith academy washouts to work with later as well. If I'm lucky. If." He sounded delighted.

Shannin had stopped listening, as she always had when Imperial horrors revealed themselves too close to home and she could either quake in the presence of such cruelty among sentient beings, or go somewhere else. She viewed the rise and fall of the Rakghoul's chest with distant eyes, she felt her body pass down a row of empty cots and bloodstained sheets but she did not perceive them. She tried to perceive, _really_ perceive as little as possible until Lokin took her back into the living room. She finished her cold tea, she thanked him for his help, and she made to leave.

"But agent," Lokin called after her, "We haven't solved your issue. I was hoping you'd let me run some diagnostics?"

Shannin paused in the doorway, forced to return to herself for a moment or two. Lokin had a needle in his hand. She felt the reassuring weight of her knife at her side and knew without hesitation that she could defend herself if Lokin were to press the issue. But Lokin would not press the issue.

"No thank you," Shannin said softly. "You have made it abundantly clear that you know nothing of the reason for my sudden relapse. It has occurred to me that I was remiss in coming to you in the first place. I'll admit that I might have longed for the days when you and I could count on one another. You were occasionally like a father to me," she told him, then took another step out the door. "Thank you for reminding me that those days are long past. I'm glad that we have both managed to move on to lead productive lives."

Lokin gave her a hard look and he put the needle away. "Good day to you, Shannin." He said her name as though it tasted bitter on his tongue. Shannin hurried back down the path toward the Imperial outpost. She would do humanity a favor then if she bombed the clinic on her way off world. But then again, what kind of way was that to treat a father?


	14. Chapter 14: Blood and Angels

**Chapter 14: Blood and Angels**

The speeder went down fairly quickly under the weight of some six-odd Rakghouls that had piled on after a rather brave one managed to halt it for a moment by grabbing at the propulsors on the bottom, losing an arm in the process. Junaida and Corso bailed from the machine, landing in the fetid swamp water that was twice as deep as it looked. This was perhaps the gravest mistake they could have made.

The mob from the speeder was on them instantly, before their blasters could clear the water from their system. Junaida had managed to keep one of hers above water, and shot off a few rounds into the nearest monster while she pulled herself to her feet. The muddy swamp bottom clung to her and threatened to hold her down, but soon enough she was on her feet, sending round into round into surprisingly tough Rakghoul flesh. A few moments later, the din of Corso's blaster rifle joined hers.

The downside of this increased Rakghoul-killing efficiency was that the sound of two guns firing into the mob around them drew attention from other nearby Rakghouls. Junaida scrambled to keep up with the onslaught. Some of the smaller Raks went down with a single shot, but there was a big one among the throng as well. Its skin was darker and redder and it wore a crude loincloth fashioned from the remains of a torn military uniform. It was so dirty Junaida couldn't tell if it was Republic of Imperial, but then again it didn't matter anymore. The monster didn't seem to be asking for their IDs, it just started charging them down.

Corso landed a solid shot on the big monster's thigh, but the creature barely paused. "Keep the little ones off of me!" he called.

Junaida nodded, turning her fire on the smaller Raks that swarmed Corso, allowing him to turn his more powerful blaster rifle on the giant one, but even though Junaida was focused on keeping the Rakghouls off of Corso, the creatures continued to swarm her.

She fumbled for her second blaster as one of the pink-skinned ones slipped away from the mob tentatively making advances on Corso and flung itself at Junaida, teeth bared. She went down under the weight of it and felt its teeth tear into her shoulder. It shook its head. She felt a bone break, and then she had her second blaster free of the water. It whirred and fizzled and then finally, pressed beneath the Rakghoul's chin, fired, shattering the animal's skull.

Junaida struggled out from under the corpse, turning both of her blasters back towards where Corso was.

But the mercenary was down, the red-skinned behemoth pinning him beneath the murky water. His gun flailed, and the Rakghoul plunged its head under, coming back up with a mouth dripping red.

"Hey!" Junaida shouted, her heart hammering with fear as she realized that Corso was probably dead and she was probably seconds away from being dead, too. "Over here!" she shouted.

The Rakghoul considered her for a moment or two, giving her the time to send twin bolts tearing into its chest, but they did little more than knock the monster back a few feet. Junaida steeled herself for the assault.

And then the Rakghoul collapsed. A thin line of smoke rose from a hole burned clean through its forehead. She didn't waste any time. Junaida hurried forward, pulling Coro gasping and bleeding from the water. He was heavy, his armour wet, his throat half-open from where the Rakghoul had torn into him.

"Corso, Corso!" Junaida shouted. She tore her scarf from around her neck and tried to make a compress, but it was no use. Corso was bleeding out. "Hold it together!" she ordered, as thought that would make a difference.

"Get in," a voice called suddenly from behind them.

Junaida looked up to find a tall, slender woman with dark skin and dark hair standing over them, seated calmly in a sleek silver speeder.

"Get in," she repeated.

Junaida scrambled to comply, pushing Corso into the back of the speeder.

"Forget him," the woman told her. "He's dead."

"He's not dead!" Junaida snapped back.

"Forget him," the woman ordered.

Junaida knew that the woman was right. She even _wanted_ to comply. But she couldn't. She had made Corso a promise to try to help him not die, and she was not going to leave him for dead while his body was still warm. "No," she said firmly.

The woman looked like she wanted to argue, but she rolled her eyes a little and didn't issue her order again. Junaida climbed in beside Corso, holding her scarf to his neck. "Hold on," the woman ordered.

This time, Junaida complied. The speeder accelerated, and the swamp transformed into blurring lines. Junaida clung to Corso even after his breathing stopped and the smell of blood became overpowering. She wasn't sure if it was her blood or his though, because when they finally pried her away from his body she noticed that her shoulder was raw and her clothes drenched in blackening blood. And then she fell asleep.

* * *

When Junaida woke up there were needles in her arms and her mouth was taped shut around a plastic tube that ran straight to her stomach. She turned onto her side and felt the tube pull and began to choke. Within seconds a medical droid arrived to pull the tube out our her throat and let her sit up.

"Please remain stationary," the droid told her in a brisk tone. "You'll injure your internal organs."

Junaida coughed and threw up white liquid when she tried to speak. Another droid arrived, this one without the friendly semblance of a face that the other one had. It grasped her by her arms and pinned her back to the hard plastic cot. She finally manage to see past the light that hovered over her. She was in some sort of sickbay—not an elaborate one, but clean and well stocked. The beautiful woman with the sniper rifle was there too. She watched over Junaida disapprovingly, occasionally stepping out of the way so the friendly faced droid could walk around and reattach some of the tape on her arms that she'd managed to pull free of.

"Who are you," Junaida managed to rasp without vomiting.

"Lay down or I'll have them sedate you," the woman instructed briskly in an accent Junaida couldn't place.

"Where am I?" Junaida asked, though she obeyed this order.

"In sickbay," the woman replied matter-of-factly. "You'll call me Eleven. Is that understood?"

Junaida nodded and flinched as a needle was inserted into her arm. "You're a Cipher, aren't you?" She could see the woman smile out of the corner of her eye. "My mother's a Cipher agent. If you harm us—" she stopped, suddenly remembering Corso's torn throat. "Corso how is—"

"Better than you," the woman interrupted, motioning for one of the droids to do something. Junaida felt another needle.

"He's okay?" she pressed.

"The main artery wasn't severed," the woman, Eleven, explained. "He's in a kolto wrap currently. It's you we're worried about."

"Me?" Junaida asked. "Why, I'm fine I—" she began to feel the effects of whatever had been in that needle. Her arm began to itch and ache, and then the feeling began to spread.

"You've been infected with the Rakghoul virus," the woman told her. "We're dosing you with the vaccine, but of course, vaccines are supposed to be administered _before_ infection, so we're still not sure if you're going to pull through."

"You know my mother, don't you?"

"We're going to put you out again," Eleven warned her. "Just for another few hours. When you come to everything will be fine. _If_ you come to."

"And Corso's fine?"

"Right as rain," Eleven assured her. "Now go to sleep, little gunslinger. When you wake up we'll exchange presents."

Presents. The thought made Junaida relax. She liked presents. She couldn't wait. No, she could wait. She was very very tired. Why was her arm so itchy? She'd just sleep it off; it'd be better in the morning.

* * *

Junaida woke up to the sound of rain, and the smell of rain, but it wasn't the way rain smelled on Coruscant or even Alderaan or Tython, it was a sticky rotting toxic rain, and Junaida was glad that she was inside and not out there. Then it occurred to her that the last completely coherent memory she had was of a open-roofed speeder, and she sat up quickly, ramming her head on something solid.

Her eyesight adjusted to the darkness and she realized she was in a room in a house in a bunk bed, her forehead now sporting a bruise shaped like the middle support beam of the bed above her. The house was half rotted, and the transparisteel window was broken—that's how she could smell the rain. She rolled out of bed and when her feet hit the floor she felt nauseous and vomited white liquid onto the dirty floor.

There were footsteps in the hall and a moment later Corso was in the doorway, silhouetted in the dim firelight from some room beyond. He pulled her to her feet by her shoulders and met her eyes.

"You're alive," he breathed, steering Junaida back to the bed and sitting her back down. "Go back to sleep."

"Where are we, what happened?" she asked.

"You don't remember?"

"Of course I remember," Junaida snapped, suddenly irritable. Why was she the hurt one? Corso had his throat ripped out. She was supposed to be fine. She thought she had saved _his_ life. Well, at least for a millisecond she had. It would have all been over for her too if it hadn't been for that woman. "Eleven," she said. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Corso asked. "You were still out when I woke up. The medical droid said patrol droids picked us up and hauled us back. Something else had scared the Raks away. Are you sure you're alright?"

Junaida shook him off. He knew less than she did. "We have a guardian angel," she explained. "It wasn't patrol droids that found us."

"Are you sure?" Corso asked.

Junaida nodded and leaned back, bumping the back of her head this time and cringing. Corso reached behind her to arrange a rolled up jacket she had been using as a pillow. "She wasn't Imperial or Republic," Junaida explained. "She was dark, as dark as you, and she had a beautiful sniper rifle."

Corso looked at her with concern. "You need to get some more rest," he insisted. "I've already heard from Risha and explained the situation. She's talked to Beryl who's talked to her buyer and they're fine waiting. In fact, they expected this to happen. I think Risha might have even been scouting for a third replacement squad."

Junaida shook her head slowly and leaned back in her bunk, using the rolled up jacket to prop herself up. "I'm sorry," she said as Corso got to his feet.

"Don't worry about it," Corso said, sidestepping the vomit.

"Not that," Junaida said with a frown. "Well, also that. I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

Corso gave her a half-smile. "I feel pretty alive, personally. Seems like you did a fine job of trying to not let me die."

"It was her," Junaida insisted. "Our guardian angel."

"Fine," Corso ceded with a chuckle.

"Wait!" Junaida called. Corso froze in the doorway. "Why am I still hurt?" she asked.

Corso stepped back inside and took an awkward seat on the end of her bed, leaning out from under the top bunk. "You were infected," he explained. "Rakghoul bites will turn you into one of them if you're not careful. But those droids were careful. I wouldn't mind having priority Imperial clearance everywhere I traveled. They did a good job of stitching me up." Corso ran a hand over his neck. In the darkness Junaida spotted a series of think pink lines that would have been invisible with another day of kolto treatment.

"So I'm not going to turn into a drooling monster?" Junaida asked timidly.

"Doubt it," Corso replied. "The droids declared you 'fit to return to duty.' I don't think anyone mentioned to them that our duty is stealing from pirates and smuggling things through Imperial customs. Probably best that way."

"If I do turn," Junaida went on, holding a hand up as Corso tried to interrupt. "If I do turn, I want you to shoot me right between the eyes. I want you to do it."

Corso squeezed her foot. "Not a chance, Juni," he teased. "Your father would kill me. Rest up."

"Eight hours," she called as Corso stepped out the door. "Eight hours and I'll be good to go. We'll drive more carefully this time."

"Just rest up, Juni," Corso called back and then retreated toward the light of the other room. Junaida stared at the open rainy window for a few minutes, inhaling deeply as a breeze blew the acrid green air into the room. And then she fell asleep again.

* * *

Raina Temple camped out in a small camouflaged shelter a kilometre from the abandoned homestead she'd left Junaida and Corso in. She'd disassembled her rifle and packed it away. She hated that rifle. Shannin Tormaris had taught her how to use a sniper rifle, but a sniper was dead when its target came too close within its scopes, and Raina didn't have the talent for knife fighting that her mentor did. Her comlink chirped.

"Eleven here," she answered.

Vector's voice replied, "Raina, how are you?"

"Alive," Raina answered cryptically.

"We received reports of two untagged soldiers being admitted to the Forward Post. Those weren't by any chance the charges we asked you to keep safe?"

"They were," Raina replied in her usual singsong. "Just me doing my job, Moff Hyllus. Some Rakghouls took a liking to our friends."

"And how are they?"

"Alive," Raina replied cryptically again. Making Vector squirm was an old pastime.

"Alive and?" he demanded.

Raina smiled them remembered that the comm was voice only. "They're alive and well," she specified. "We almost lost the mercenary. He lost most of his throat to a Rakghoul, but the droids patched him up easy enough. That kind of injury is common enough, and I managed to intervene in time."

"And the girl?"

"Fine, too, in the end. She was infected."

Vector was silent for a while.

"She'll be fine," Raina promised him, jealous of his apparent concern for her mentor's child. "I saw to it that she was vaccinated. I also implanted a tracking beacon under her skin. She shouldn't notice, but it'll help me keep an eye on these two."

"Good," Vector said. "We approve of your initiative, Eleven. And your diligence." He really did sound very grateful. "Shannin left the planet a few hours ago. She asked us to send her regards to you."

"Oh? How is she?" Raina asked.

"She sounded well," Vector replied, "But she declined our invitation to meet for dinner."

Raina smirked. "Now, now. Don't sound so put out, Vector. There are other fish in the sea."

"We're aware of that, Eleven," Vector replied. "Take care of our charges. And take care of yourself. Hyllus out."

Raina shut off her comm. The mercenary, Corso Riggs had emerged from the hut to take a look around, rifle in his hands. He seemed to stare directly at her position, but if he spotted her he didn't react, he just finished his walk around the perimeter of the house, pausing outside the window to the room Raina'd set the girl up in. He was concerned about the lack of windowpane. Yes, she'd been concerned, too, but Taris didn't have a lot of prime ready-to-move-in real-estate anymore. He'd have to get over it. He did. He finished his sweep and stepped back inside. The light went out. Raina settled in for the night watch.


	15. Chapter 15: The Apprentice

**Chapter 15: The Apprentice**

_Like a Jedi on Nar Shaddaa._

Shannin remembered the expression as she heard the snap-hiss of a lightsaber being ignited a ways up the promenade. She turned to look as she fed the parking meter where she was powering down her citibike, and felt her insides go cold. The blade that glimmered in the distance was red; the lightsaber of Sith. Of all the filth on Nar Shaddaa there was nothing so evil, so irredeemably terrible and terrifying as a single Sith.

Shannin schooled her emotions. She'd been taught how to do this long ago to avoid detection by Force-sensitives. They can read feelings, not thoughts, so she tried to feel nothing, to wrap herself in a cloak of empty serenity until there was no fear, no joy, nothing to make her catch their attention. Her pounding heart slowed, willing confidence to replace her fear, and she turned her back towards the Sith and continued on her way. There was a time when the Sith had been her masters, but no more. This being whose red blade carved a circle of death into those around it had nothing to do with her. A cocky little voice at the back of her mind whispered, _I've killed your like before, Sith. Come and try me._ But she pushed it away, drowned it in a flicker of fear. She wasn't a hot-shot young agent, drunk on her own perceived invincibility, her moral superiority over those she served with, and her confidence that she could rise through the ranks in the Empire and stomach no matter what it took, and in doing so personally bringing the stability and the strength for which she'd been drawn to the Empire to the uncivilized parts of their vast galaxy.

The Sith had cost Shannin her freedom. It was because she had killed a Sith Master on her own initiative that the Sith had deemed her a threat to their comfortable rule and had her brainwashed. She hadn't know it then. She hadn't suspected what had been done, but her first trip to Nar Shaddaa had begun to shake the foundations of her belief in herself and in the Empire all the same.

Another saying came to mind. _Better to be a Jedi among Gamorreans._ It meant, better to suffer among those less sophisticated, less aware than oneselfthan it was to revel in ignorance. Having knowledge was indeed better than not having it, but as sirens blared along the promenade, Shannin thanked her lucky stars that she was not a Jedi. The police droids had arrived, seen the bright red blade and stopped. A few feet away from Shannin she could hear the droid radioing in to dispatch and asking for further instructions.

"A Sith?" a robotic voice crackled over the police-droid's comm. "Do you want to be scrap? Get out of there!"

"Copy!" the police-droid replied, revved up its speeder, and tore off in the opposite direction.

No, better not to be a Jedi. A Jedi could not flee before the Sith like she and that droid did, and not only because of some moral obligation ingrained into the by their order, but because they would shine like a beacon for that monster with the red blade, a succulent fruit brimming with the Light Side, waiting to be plucked and snuffed out, and the darkness that these creatures so relished restored.

_I've brought one into this world, oh gods,_ Shannin thought desperately as she descended from the promenade into the lower reaches of the Imperial district. To the Sith, Shannin was no more interesting than a rock or a droid, but her daughter—poor Alsina—was doomed to attract them like poisonous moths to a flame. She would not be spared from the evil of the Sith. She had not been allowed to be a Gamorrean among Gamorreans, not even for a day. _Better to be Jedi among Gamorreans_, Shannin thought again. It was a death sentence, and she had watched as it was pronounced over her youngest child.

They said the Sith brought out dark thoughts in those around them. Perhaps that was all this was, for as Shannin descended below into the neon underworld of Nar Shaddaa, the fear and the pain she felt for her youngest daughter's fate subsided a little, and she took a deep, leveling breath as she surveyed her surroundings. Oh, there were good memories here. She and Kaylio had been Gamorreans among Gamorreans here. They had balanced work with play; they had torn up this town and for a short while, a few months maybe, they had never been more content than with one another's company. Those were good times. For all the evil there was lurking under every inch of dirt on Nar Shaddaa, Shannin had memories of a time when she felt that nothing could ever stop her or give her pause. She had never felt more powerful than the first time she had come to Nar Shaddaa. She had never been truly weaker, either.

But Shannin hadn't come to Nar Shaddaa to relive old memories, she had come to find information. Lokin knew nothing of Watcher X's current location, but perhaps his old prison did.

For Shannin, Shadow Town had always been like a museum of wasted potential. It was where the Empire kept its most dangerous enemies, but also where it kept its most dangerous friends. Those who knew too much but whose loyalty had been questioned ended up in Shadow Town. Many of those behind bars in Shadow Town weren't enemies of the empire at all, but rather friends whose usefulness had reached an end, and rather and have these people executed, the Empire humanely chose to lock them up. The Empire counted on finding many of these prisoners useful in the future, but for the moment they needed keeping of the way. These people were essentially set in carbonite, awaiting a time when the empire concluded that they had something left to give—or not.

When Shannin had first met Watcher X, he was one of such prisoners. He had been young and charming, seeming more or less at ease with his status as a prisoner of the Empire he had been born to serve. And Watcher X _had_ been born to serve the Empire. It was one of the first things she found out about the strange, talented young man when she started digging through what was left of his official files. He'd been a result of the Empire's human eugenics program back before it bore that name, and it was just a series of experiments on beings of all species trying to make them perform more effectively. Effective Watcher X had certainly been. He'd been one of the Empire's top operatives just a few years before his incarceration. Shannin still didn't know what he'd done to wind up in prison, but she had her suspicions. Those files had been deleted. The Cleaners had done their job well on his account.

Shannin flashed her Imperial ID at a checkpoint heading into Shadow Town. She technically didn't have clearance to go much further in than the lowest security sections, but she was counting on her old title as Cipher of rattling a few guards enough to stay out of her way.

And it did. One of the guards checked her credentials, was impressed and though he clearly hesitated, his fear of being reprimanded for hindering someone who'd once been a Cipher outweighed his caution. Shannin flashed him a smile. Cipher agents were not to be trifled with. The man saluted and stepped aside, letting the former agent step into the slums that were the second layer of Shadow Town.

Shadow Town wasn't a normal prison. It was more of a small penal colony in the heart of Nar Shaddaa; a colony that never grew, never shrank, but remained ever at a capacity with scum from across the Empire. At the heart of the slum-colony was the complex that the Imperials actually maintained, a few levels of cells with decent living conditions, even if they were smaller and more restrictive than the outer colony. This was where the Empire's broken toys came to live out their "retirement" years in modest comfort. Of course, should any of the prisoners, be it from the inner high-security prisons or the outer slums, try to _leave_ Shadow Town, the explosives implanted in their head would go off the moment they stepped outside the boundaries and shatter their skulls.

"Boom boom," Shannin had remembered Kaylio joking the first time they'd come here.

"It's more of a small pop," their escort had explained, emotionless, from behind his helmet. "_Pop_, like a blaster firing on empty, and then blood starts coming out of their ears and nose. Sometimes an eye pops out. But it's subtle."

_Real subtle_, Shannin thought to herself as she passed a huddle of prisoners playing an unenthusiastic round of cards. It all means the same thing to these people. Less overt violence kept the population docile. Contrary to what the Imperials believed in other sectors of the galaxy, overt violence tended to inspire overt resistance or uncontrollable terror. The guards at Shadow Town didn't want to have to be bothered with either.

Shannin ended up at the main complex fairly quickly. She knew the way. She'd been here before, and there were no disruptions that would require her to make a detour. She passed through another set of barriers, entered an inner complex, glanced up towards the glowing transparisteel office perched above a courtyard in the inner prison. The Warden would be there, and hopefully her answers, too.

The warden was a hardened Cathar woman dressed in a crisp gray suit markedly absent of any Imperial insignia. It would have been strange otherwise. The Empire had never been fond of non-humans; having this one—and a female, no less—in charge of such a sensitive operation as Shadow Town was definitely strange. Other than that, the woman reeked of the Empire. Her clothing and bearing made it clear that while the Empire may not accept her, she accepted them and would strive with ever fiber of her being to fit in. Shannin had seen her type before, and she knew to be wary.

"Mrs. Tormaris," the warden greeted, rising from behind her tidy transparisteel-topped workstation to shake Shannin's hand. The fact that she'd used Shannin's civilian title made it clear that she was not impressed with the Cipher designation—not when it was no longer officially applicable. Oh yes, Shannin would have to be wary. "Welcome to Shadow Town. Or welcome back, I should say."

"How nice to meet you, Warden Vecher," Shannin greeted amicably, having noted the woman's name from the door. "The last time I was here an Officer Droje was in charge. Has he retired then?"

"You could phrase it that way," the Cathar warden replied with a smile. "Not to be rude, but strictly speaking, Mrs. Tormaris, you aren't really allowed to be here."

Again with calling her Mrs. Tormaris, as though Shannin had forgotten that she'd said it once already. She as not being subtle in reminding Shannin of her station, but nothing about Vecher was subtle. Shannin decided to give as good as she got. "And you and I both know that there's no such thing as a retired agent," Shannin said with that crisp, cold Imperial bite that she had only recently used when disciplining her children and perhaps, on bad days, with Coruscant Transit officials.

"Then you have renewed clearance?"

Shannin simply stared her down. She took a seat opposite the warden's desk and crossed her legs and waited until the warden sat down, too. It was an invitation to quit the posturing and, for lack of a better expression, cock-measuring. Officer Droje had been much more compliant. Or pliant, rather. He was a narcissist, and that always made Shannin's job easy. This woman was a climber, and she would use Shannin as a stepping stone to a real imperial uniform in a heartbeat. It still didn't occur to Shannin that she might be in danger from the Cathar warden. Perhaps it should have. Perhaps _she_ was being the narcissist. There was a time when no one in the Empire save the Sith would dare say no to her, but that day, if it had ever really been the truth, was long since passed.

"I need information," Shannin said after letting the silence sink in for a while. "It pertains to a case I was once involved with. The Watcher X case."

Vecher's blank expression told Shannin that she knew about this case.

"Watcher X escaped from Shadow Town during the time I was here some twenty years ago. I may have information that will result in his return to prison, but I need to verify some facts. I'd like to access his file in the system."

Vecher nodded slowly and leaned back in her chair. "That file was deleted when he escaped."

"But certainly it's been replaced from the backup since then?"

"No backup," Vecher explained.

"Why, that's impossible," Shannin said with a frown. "I spoke to someone at the archive, they assured me that you had this file."

"Dromund Kaas is a long ways away, Mrs. Tormaris. Your contact at archives was mistaken."

"Then you mean to say I've come all this way for nothing?" Shannin said, annoyed, and then attempted a bluff. "Intelligence will _not_ be pleased that you couldn't bother to inform them of this request."

"Intelligence will be informed," Vecher assured her, rising to her feet and pressing the comm button on her workstation. "In fact, they _were_ informed the moment you arrived. I'm waiting for further instructions right now." Two guards stepped into the room, stun-batons in hand. "I'm sure they'll be quite pleased to hear that I've captured the double agent who freed Watcher X. I knew you'd come back to the scene of the crime."

Shannin's heart sunk. Two more guards stepped through the doorway, making it four. She had left her blaster pistol on her ship and only had the knife on her hip to defend herself. Two she could take, but not four—and that was if the warden stayed out of it.

_Maybe at your peak you could take two armored guards with a shiv,_ a voice—not Watcher X's voice, but her own conscience—whispered. _You're not twenty anymore, old girl. _

Shannin glared metaphorical daggers at the warden but kept her real one sheathed. "Don't overdo it," she growled tiredly. "I'll come quiet."

Vecher nodded and one of the guards buzzed her shoulder with the stun-baton, just to prove he could. Shannin flinched. "Well that's no fun," the warden drawled. "Lock her up," she ordered and the men seized Shannin by her arms, hauling her indelicately out of the chair, and knocking it over in the process. As she was dragged out of the warden's office, she watched the stiff-backed Cathar woman set the chair back on its feet and smile, and then two spare guards decided to test out their stun-batons, and Shannin's vision swam as electricity ripped through her body.

* * *

The pirates had a fairly well fortified camp well out of Rakghoul territory on Taris. Had the road not run directly through the Rakghoul congregation, Junaida and Corso would probably have reached it in a little over two hours, but as it was it wasn't until forty-eight hours later that Junaida stopped throwing up and managed to convince Corso that she was well enough to carry on. Corso was unconvinced, but after she shot down a line of six targets at twenty paces with seven shots, he caved to her demands and they cleared out of the little hovel and moved on.

During Junaida's convalescent period, Corso had recovered their speeder from where it had crashed near the congregation and did some quick repairs to make it operational again. Junaida chastised him for going after it on his own, but she had been in no position to help, and it would have taken them days to walk to the pirate camp on foot, and a full week to walk back to the nearest Imperial outpost. They parked the speeder a couple kilometers from the pirate camp and walked the rest of the way, hands drifting to their weapons with every rustle in the bushes. It took them a few hours, but they managed to survey the camp and set up a decent position in the low ground below the camp. They set charges on the ramshackle forts facing the hill, hoping the pirates would rush to defend from that angle since it _would_ have truly been a better angle to attack from, but that was assuming you had an actual assault force, and not merely two half-mad gunners. Junaida took a stim before the attack and nodded to Corso.

He looked concerned, but there was fire in his eyes and his grip on his gun was loose and confident.

"Right," Junaida announced, removing the remote for the charges from her pocket. "We slip in, detonate them, hide for a minute, and then go for the goods."

"Why not wait for the guards to run off after we detonate the charges?" Corso asked.

"Protocol is probably to increase security during an attack. They're not stupid."

Corso nodded. "All right. Want me to go first?"

Junaida shook her head. "I'm going to sneak in. Your armor's too stiff, you won't be able to move as quietly as I can. I'll snipe the guards," she said, pulling a silencer from her pocket and screwing it onto the muzzle of her smaller blaster. "I'll try to make as little noise as possible for as long as possible, but once you hear blasterfire, don't be afraid to come in blasting."

"You know how I like to go in blasting," Corso assured her.

Junaida smiled. The stims were kicking in. She felt good. "Alright. Let's do this." She rose out of her crouched position in the bushes, walking directly towards the first guard, who saw her but didn't call out right away. He leveled his blaster at her and when she didn't stop he finally shouted. "Hey!"

But by then there was a blaster burn between his eyes and he was toppling to the ground. Junaida caught the body before it could hit, cushioning its fall and dragging it out of sight. She pulled off the man's helmet and pulled it over her own head. It smelled bad, and there was blood in the back she tried hard not to think about. Then she took the man's red and black arm-band and magazine, and moved on. Two more guards fell as Junaida wove her way through the crudely built little houses, both silently and with hardly a whisper. One of them had a gun Junaida liked. She tucked it into the back of her pants and kept moving. When she finally felt confident she was well tucked away inside the camp's borders, she detonated the charges.

The explosion shook the camp. Around her Junaida heard shouts and the sound of weapons being loaded as the pirates swarmed to defend against the nonexistent threat. Junaida began to look around for a speeder to snag. There was one not far from where the goods were supposed to be. She checked the console and figured she could hot-wire it fairly easily. Instead of waiting to have the cargo and half a dozen pirate gunners on her back, Junaida slipped into the driver's seat and crouched down, pulling the console open and setting to work.

She suddenly wished she had Fiver with her. The little droid would have the speeder going in under a minute, but the droid currently had a hole in his motherboard, so Junaida would have to do this herself. She made a resolution to work on fixing Fiver as soon as she got back to her ship. A few minutes later the repulsors hummed as Junaida got the machine working. She heard gunfire. Apparently, Corso had gotten bored of waiting. Just as well. She'd need a hand soon.

Junaida hopped out of the speeder and moved towards the sound of gunfire, but Corso didn't need any help. He strode up the narrow street, a stream of laserfire from his rifle mowing down any pirate that came out to say hello.

"There you are," he called cheerfully.

"I was wondering when you were going to join the party," Junaida teased, nodding towards the structure that was supposed to hold their cargo.

"I was waiting for an invite," he called back.

"I guess I just started having too much fun without you," Junaida laughed. "I got us a speeder. Hop in," she said, drumming on the side of the machine.

Corso did, just as a handful of blaster-bolts skittered across the hood.

Junaida returned fire from both blasters, taking out a clumsily placed sniper on top of a shed across the way.

"That tent's supposed to have the cargo," Corso said, nodding towards a very rough pavilion a few meters ahead.

"Yes," Junaida confirmed. "Security's a bit low, don't you think?"

"We'll see," Corso mused. They approached a slit in the fabric. Junaida began to holster her weapons.

"I'm pretty sure there's no subtle way to break into a tent full of stolen goods," Corso pointed out.

"Right," Junaida ceded, taking out both guns and drawing a long, steadying breath. "Ready?"

"Ready," Corso confirmed. They stepped in.

The tent was empty except for three men. The problem with these three men, however, was that they were very heavily armed. The assault cannons mounted on their shoulders made Corso's blaster rifle look like a toy. And they had already seen them come in.

Before Junaida could so much as raise her weapon, one of the men fired. The blast from his assault cannon vaporised most of the two crates Junaida had taken shelter behind. She heard the return fire from Corso make contact. There were a couple of screams, but the cannon fire came roaring right back a few minutes later. Junaida tentatively raised her head to survey their position.

It wasn't good. If anyone else came by the tent they could vaporise them without even checking to see who was there. They had meager shelter from their immediate attackers; Junaida behind the crates and Corso behind a mostly-broken down speeder bike. Still it wasn't much, especially when the enemy had really, really big guns.

"Give me cover fire," Junaida called to Corso.

Corso nodded, sending a splash of blasterfire over their attackers while Junaida balanced her biggest gun on the edge of one of the crates, took aim, and fired. The shot hit home, punching a hole through the sweet spot where helmet met body armor, taking down one of the cannoneers. Junaida took a second shot, this one punching into the shoulder of the second, but by now the two survivors had caught on and were sending a flurry of fire in her direction that forced her to stay tucked behind the crates harmlessly.

Corso reached for a grenade.

"And if we destroy the cargo?" Junaida called. "No, be patient. We've got them."

"What part of us being pinned down by cannon fire makes you think we've got them?"

Junaida smiled. "You know how much energy those guns use? In about a minute, one of three things is going to happen. One, they're going to have to stop shooting to reload energy packs, two, they're going to have to stop shooting to vent heat from the built in generators."

"And three?" Corso called.

"Three, they've got these new guns my brother was talking about that use a hyper efficient solar powering system, and can shoot for hours non-stop before coolant cartridges need to be pulled out and replaced."

Corso gave her a hard look. "I'm not too keen on waiting that long."

"Now that I think about it, neither am I," Junaida agreed.

"Cover me," Corso called.

Junaida nodded.

Corso ducked out of cover, shooting at the two remaining pirate canoneers. One turned to face him, the other continued to send a barrage of bolts at Junaida's position. And then she got lucky. The target facing her dropped down to recharge his weapon, leaving the second pirate attacking Corso open to her fire. A quick, sloppy shot took him in the hip, spinning him off balance. Junaida steeled herself and sent a quick round of four bolts into the pirate's exposed chest. He toppled to the ground, his over-sized weapon clattering to the ground. The second target howled in pain as Corso hit him, but he still managed to rise to his feet and level his gun at Junaida. She ducked back into cover, but the shot was super-powered, and it knocked back the crates, which came crashing into her. They were mostly empty, but they were still heavy enough to batter, bruise, and nearly trap her underneath. She left cover and watched as the ground directly in front of her exploded with an anticipatory shot. But then she heard a shout and the shooting stopped.

"A little help here," Corso called. His voice was full of pain. Junaida got her bearings, ears still ringing from the close call, and found Corso bleeding from a thigh wound from when his cover, the speeder bike, had exploded under one of the cannon's rounds. A piece of shrapnel was stuck deep in his leg.

Junaida left the shard in but sprayed it with numbing sealing spray from her field med-pack, and helped Corso to his feet. He cringed a little but gave her a terse nod that said he was functional.

"The cargo," she reminded him, nodding towards the three boxes they'd come for. They were sealed and locked; there was no way to verify the contents. Neither did Junaida really know what was in them, but she knew she wasn't going to screw this one up. She picked up one of the boxes by herself. It was heavy, but she gritted her teeth and hauled it out of the slit in the tent wall to where the speeder was waiting. Corso followed her, and they went back for the third crate together.

The pirate camp was beginning to really stir now. Their little squabble had drawn attention from what the pirates had thought was an all out assault on their base, and they were starting to catch on. By the time the pirates got organized, they needed to be long gone. Corso made a move to take the steering wheel but Junaida pushed him away.

"For once I've got the clearer head," she said, passing Corso a wad of gauze from her kit and glancing over her shoulder to make sure the cargo was strapped down securely in the back of the speeder. Without hesitating Junaida fired up the repulsors, throttled up, and tore out of the pirate camp without so much as a backward glance.


	16. Chapter 16: Business with Beryl

**Chapter 16: Business with Beryl**

"Well then," Beryl announced, surveying the three crates they'd hauled out of the pirate camp. "You really did it. I'll admit, when Risha called to tell me you guys needed a few days to recuperate, I figured you were dead and she just didn't want to tell me."

"Nah," Junaida told her, sitting down with exaggerated ease in one of Beryl's pristine coral-colored recliners. "If we were dead, Risha wouldn't need to wait even an hour. She'd have a replacement team in there like that." She snapped her fingers.

Beryl gave what seemed to be a fully amused and cheerful smile. "Corso, how are you holding up?"

Corso gave her a weak smile. Beryl had an old droid with a bit of medical programming who had removed the shrapnel and stitched the wound up with decent skill. Corso was of course still in a fair amount of pain, and the half-expired painkillers she'd given him had yet to kick in. He'd also lost a lot of blood, and Junaida was concerned about how much blood a person could lose over a certain amount of time before they stopped being able to fill you back up with fake stuff.

"Since your work for me is done, it's my pleasure to hand over your pay," Beryl said. "I was going to have the droid deliver the charts to your ship, but I wasn't aware you were here under Imperial protection."

"We're not," Junaida replied, but saw Beryl's worried expression. "Not officially at least. We shouldn't be. My mother was Imperial Intelligence before she retired. She has friends here who decided they'd like to keep us alive."

"That explains your shadow," Beryl nodded.

"Shadow?" Corso asked.

"She's good, probably Intelligence herself. A Cipher or a Keeper, I'm guessing. She's been on your tail since you first came by my place. In fact, it rather worried me, but I had a tail of my own follow her and they said she seemed more bored than anything and wasn't calling in any reports on your movements except rarely and when you got into trouble."

"This shadow, what does she look like?" Junaida asked.

"Tall, slim, dark with that crisp, chemically-cleaned Imperial look that gives me the creeps."

"Yeah, that's the woman who saved us," Junaida said to Corso. "See, I'm not hallucinating!"

Corso tried to smother a tired, drug-addled smile that ended up turning into a yawn.

"Saved you?" Beryl asked.

"We ran into some Rakghoul trouble," Junaida recounted. "That's the reason for our little break there. We wouldn't have made it out alive if it weren't for her." Junaida blushed self-consciously. "At first I actually thought it was my mom. She had a sniper rifle."

"Yes, the woman we followed had a sniper rifle," Beryl confirmed. "I've never met your mother, truthfully. When you said she was Imperial Intelligence actually that was the first thought that came to my mind."

"No, just the gun reminded me of mom," Junaida assured her. "My mother's fairer," she said, waving a hand over her face. "And a bit...stiffer. I take after my father."

Beryl smiled. "You certainly do. You weren't infected by the Rakghouls, were you?"

Junaida grimaced. "I was, but our shadow got us to an Imperial medical outpost. I've been vaccinated."

"You might be interested to know that that vaccine was made using antibodies harvested from your father years ago," Beryl told her and beamed. "I thought maybe you'd be naturally resistant like he was."

"Apparently I didn't inherit everything from my father," Junaida joked. "My mom's old Imperial friend thinks I have her eyes."

"Hmm," Beryl remarked. "I knew there was one thing about you that didn't remind me of your father. Otherwise I would suggest maybe you're Vondo reincarnated as a young woman. You certainly take to trouble with as much gusto." She laughed.

Junaida glanced at Corso, whose expression was torn somewhere half between a frown and a smile. "Well, I think I need to get this one back to the ship before that painkiller kicks _all_ the way in."

"Probably a good idea," Corso said, making a perceptible effort not to slur his speech. "That's some powerful stuff, Beryl."

"I'm glad you like it," she replied politely. "Well Junaida, it was a pleasure to meet you, and good to see you again too, Corso. I wish you both the best of luck in your careers. If you're ever interested in doing more work for me, there isn't much, but I could use a couple of people with guns I can actually count on to get the job done."

"Thanks," Junaida replied, appreciating the job offer.

"And say hello to your father for me," she added.

"We will," Corso assured her with a note of finality. With that they said goodbye and headed out to the speeder where Beryl's droid was waiting to load their pay. Junaida drove. When they reached the Imperial spaceport and passed under the red Imperial banner, a chill ran down Junaida's spine. Her holo-comm chimed, and she put it on the speeder display.

Moff Vector Hyllus' image swam into view.

"Hello, Junaida Tormaris," he greeted amicably.

"Hello, Mr. Hyllus," Junaida replied with polite neutrality.

"We were hoping we might invite you and your crew to dine with us this evening before your departure," he said. "We had invited your mother as well, but unfortunately she left this morning and could not join us. We hoped you would make use of the caterer we've already contracted."

"I could go for some food," Corso mumbled.

Junaida gave him a hard look. She was uncomfortable with the proposition, but it was becoming increasingly rude to decline Vector's offers. "My mother was on Taris?"

"Yes," Vector said, "We only spoke to her via comm link, but she was here briefly for two days and then left on urgent business."

"Did you tell her I was here?" Junaida pressed.

"We're afraid we did," Vector apologized. "She was not angry. In fact she asked us to say hello to you for her."

"Then she sent the agent to help us?" Junaida asked.

"I'm afraid that was us," Vector corrected. "I hope you'll understand if we wanted to ensure that we were not calling your parents to inform you of your death and decapitation by Rakghoul."

"Who did you send after us?" Junaida asked.

Vector paused. "Her name is Agent Temple. If you join us for dinner this evening, we can ensure that you meet her."

Junaida waited a few moments as well, glancing at Corso. The poor man could probably use a good solid meal before they returned to ship protein rations. "Of course," Junaida replied with the politeness that had been drilled into her by the academy on Coruscant. "It'd be our pleasure to join you this evening. Is my whole crew invited?"

"Of course," Vector assured her. "There are three of you, I believe? We have more than enough fresh food for you all."

Junaida's stomach rumbled. "What time?"

"Half past six," Vector replied. "Shall we see you then?"

"Indeed," Junaida said. "Until then, Mr. Hyllus." She disconnected the comm and glanced over at Corso. He was falling asleep. Good. He could sleep off the side effects of the meds for three hours and then they'd go and eat fancy Imperial food before they got the hell off this toxic rock.

* * *

At the academy on Coruscant, half of Junaida's class had been born to former Imperials. They had inherited their parents' way of conducting themselves, their assumption that they were important to the other people in the room, and the unwavering conviction that no matter what happened, they were equipped to deal with it. This meant something to each of them, but it gave them all an irritating air of self-assurance that Junaida had spent long, hard hours working to ruffle. Sitting at the dinner table across from Moff Vector Hyllus and Cipher Agent Raina Temple, Junaida felt like she was back at the academy, seated across from some alumni her old counselor—a former Imperial quartermaster who did little to hide his ideological leanings, despite having helped overthrow the government that supported them—had put together to show to her just how far she had strayed from whatever path it was he thought she ought to be on. For years Junaida had played their game and she had played it well, but the day she graduated she packed away her old uniforms and heaved a sigh of relief for never ever having to pretend she cared about etiquette and the population density of Southern Alderaan, and what this might maybe possibly mean for the chancellor, who was looking to push some obscure but important piece of legislation through there.

Needless to say that when Junaida arrived at dinner five minutes early, accompanied by a rested and scrubbed Corso and a more than a little distrustful but outwardly confident Risha, she was surprised at how comfortable she felt to take her seat, thank the white-clad woman serving them, and engage in small talk with Vector about Tarisian rain. It wasn't exciting talk, it wasn't even talk Junaida would say she enjoyed, but like a person stepping behind the controls of a ship they hadn't flow in years, Junaida was reassured to know she could still navigate these regions of the galaxy admirably well.

Corso stared at her with unconcealed awe and perhaps a little disgust, while Risha did a good job of making it look like she wasn't terribly amused by the entire affair. Then again, that might have just been the way Risha's face looked; like she knew a secret that she was never going to let you in on no matter how insignificant. And then there was Raina Temple.

The woman was more than a little intimidating, and not just because Junaida vaguely remembered having been rescued by her. She was athletic, her uncomplicated black clothing underscoring that she could probably kill you bare handed without breaking a sweat. Her air of confidence bordering on cockiness seemed to confirm this. Raina Temple was relaxed, cheerful, and observant. Her eyes moved around the room steadily, always returning to Junaida, who shook off her uneasiness with more small talk. Once she'd had all of Taris' weather patterns explained in detail by a happily obliging Vector, she finally turned to Temple and thanked her for her work in keeping the two of them alive.

Agent Temple nodded her acceptance of this thanks, setting her fork and knife aside as she spoke. "The pleasure was all mine," she said in her strange, cheerful way. "I'm sure you're sick of hearing it, but I knew your mother and I know she wouldn't want you dead."

"Actually it's my father I've always been hearing about," Junaida pointed out. "There aren't too many Imperial Intelligence officers on Coruscant."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Temple sang with a pleased smile.

Vector lowered his eerie black eyes and smiled, too. "We are the only ones who can offer you these reminiscences," he told her. "Your mother didn't have many friends outside of intelligence. Hazard of the job, but those friends she did have were and are loyal to her and her family. We owe her a great deal, not only as Imperials, but as individuals too."

Junaida studied Vector a little uneasily. She didn't like to hear that her mother had had lovers even before Junaida'd been born, and perhaps after as well. As far as she knew, Shannin Tormaris had been running around with the Killik Joiner while Junaida was being swaddled by Bowdaar on her father's ship. She wasn't sure what her mother had seen in this stranger.

"Your mother's the reason I joined Intelligence," Raina explained. "But she's also the reason I'm alive. She knows all of my secrets."

"I meant to ask," Junaida said, "You said my mom was here on Taris. Why was she here?"

"She wasn't checking up on you or anything," Raina said dismissively, but then Junaida watched Vector give her a small smile that communicated something she couldn't quite grasp.

"We're not entirely sure what she was here for," Vector said almost convincingly. "She called it business, though. Risha, how has your business been here on Taris?"

"Profitable," she said ambiguously, delicately slicing her food. She could have been an academy graduate herself. Junaida wondered if she was.

"What _was_ your business on Taris?" Raina pressed.

Risha merely smiled and chewed her food. "Nothing Imperial Intelligence needs to worry about, I promise you," she said with a small laugh.

"Well, Imperial Intelligence helped your mercenaries get out of it alive, whatever it was. I think Imperial Intelligence deserves to know." Raina went on.

"I agree, you deserve to know," Risha said. "But we don't always get what we deserve."

Raina seemed satisfied with that answer for she shrugged and got to her feet. "Shall I fetch the Corellian brandy?"

"Yes, do," Vector encouraged. The two hosts poured the drink and raised their glasses for a toast. The three smugglers obliged them. "To the health of old friends, new friends, and families."

Their glasses clinked and Junaida tossed back the shallow glass of amber liquid in a single fluid motion. When Junaida set her glass down she realized that both Corso and Risha had done the same, while Raina and Vector had only taken a sip.

"My, we are exhausted, aren't we?" Raina remarked with a smile.

Junaida smiled back. "It's been a long couple of days."

"Your friend's injured," Raina went on, peering over the table at Corso who was still favoring the leg that had taken the shrapnel. "You should let our medical droids take a look at that."

"That's fine," Corso protested a little too loudly. "Bleeding's stopped, wound's been cleaned. Nothing to do but wait until it heals."

"With kolto that wait could only be five minutes," she went on. "And also, that scar on your neck. I wanted to have them get rid of that as well. You don't need to walk around with that ugly thing."

"I've had scars before," Corso told her. "And I still have them. That's how scars work. They remind you of stuff."

Raina shrugged. "It's your choice. I won't force medicine on you."

"It's natural," Corso continued, voice growing louder. Junaida noticed that he had begun to slur his speech. But the drowsiness from the meds had worn off and he'd only had one drink. He was a big man, he ought to be able to hold more than that. "Erasing scars is nobody's business. Nobody's."

Junaida glanced at Vector, who appeared to be a little amused.

"Is that so?" Raina said, arching her dark eyebrows. "You know your mother had a scar, Junaida? Does she still have it, the one on her chin?"

"Yeah," Junaida confirmed.

"Where did she get it from? She never told me."

"Never told me either," Junaida said.

"We believe she mentioned that it was from a speederbike crash during her childhood," Vector piped in. "We can't say why she hasn't had it removed, but we think she might feel about it the way Mr. Riggs feels about his scars."

"But I know there were other scars she removed," Raina pointed out.

"Yes, but not _that_ one."

"One time—" Raina began, leaning forward with anticipation, but Risha cut her off.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said briskly, "But I think we should go?"

"Go?" Raina repeated.

"Mr. Riggs isn't feeling very well," Risha explained. Junaida frowned and glanced to Corso and realized that the mercenary had gone pale and was sweating. He almost looked like he might throw up.

"The alcohol," Junaida said, smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. "It must have mixed with the painkillers. I'm so sorry, Corso. I'm sorry, Vector, Agent Temple. Risha's right."

"We're terribly sorry about this," Vector announced, rising to show them to the door. "We weren't aware your friend was on painkillers or we would have served something else."

"It's fine," Junaida assured him. She helped Corso to his feet as he swayed. Risha slipped under his arm and half-carried him out the door. Junaida stayed behind to apologize. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "I forgot."

"Take some kolto with you when you go," Raina offered. "You two clearly need it."

"It's just as well," Vector said. "We wanted to speak to you apart from your friends."

"Oh?" Junaida asked.

"We—Agent Temple and ourselves—believe that you have what it takes to become an Imperial Intelligence officer of the same caliber as your mother. When we first met you we thought you might take after her in character, and Agent Temple confirmed that you do. She also tells us that you are an excellent shot and managed two guns in your firefight admirably until you were overpowered."

"I've always favored two guns," Raina told her with a complicit smile. "Snipe rifle's not my style, however effective it is at moments. Gunslinging's the way to go."

Junaida felt a little ill as well and wondered if the brandy wasn't off, or just the conversation. She'd almost been enjoying herself before, but she suddenly remembered where she was and who she was taking to. "No," she found herself saying automatically.

"Just think about it," Vector asked her patiently.

"No," Junaida repeated, this time more firmly.

"Why not?" Raina asked. "It's a lot like the work you do now, only steadier, with better pay, and a better safety net."

"Just no," Junaida concluded.

"We're not sure what your mother's told you..."

"My mother never told me anything about her service," Junaida assured them. "My decision is entirely my own. I just wouldn't be comfortable with it...ideologically."

Raina gave a curt nod while Vector seemed to need to consider this answer for a moment. "Very well," he said finally. "We do understand your hesitations—none more so than Agent Temple and ourselves, but please consider it. Or at least say you will. You can lie to us." Vector reached into his pocket to retrieve a small piece of flimsi, a sort of calling-card. Junaida pocketed it uneasily. There was no writing on it, but a tiny data-chip in the corner meant it was scannable.

Raina offered her hand for Junaida to shake. She did. "It was a pleasure to meet you," she said. "Your mother was something of a big sister to me. I'm glad you turned out well."

"As are we," Vector said, but his cheerful demeanor had disappeared. He seemed, if anything, a little morose. "Be careful, Junaida," he said and shook her hand.

Junaida forced one last smile before saying her goodbyes and hurrying out of the room and towards where her ship was docked. Once she was long gone, Vector heaved a tired sigh. "Then it's done?" he asked.

"It should be," Raina confirmed, checking her chrono. "The team only needed five minutes to get in, ten to do their work, and two to leave. They had more than enough time to plant to tracking beacon."

"And how about the other thing? Earlier."

Raina pursed her lips. "I had to do it, Vector."

The Killik Joiner closed his black eyes for a minute. "We wish you'd have reconsidered."

"It was a direct order," she insisted. "How could I?"

"We just remember how much pain it caused—still causes—her mother. She will not be happy with us to learn that we were responsible for laying Imperial brainwashing foundations in her daughter's brain while she was being treated for her injuries," Vector said a little angrily, his usual calm nearly cracking.

"She won't find out," she insisted, laying a hand on Vector's shoulder. "And it wasn't you who did it."

"We knew what was happening and we stood by," Vector replied angrily, turning away.

"She's young. She'll come around to our side. Ideology's just another word for idealism."

"We're going to bed," Vector announced then added deliberately, "We will see you in the morning, Agent Temple."

Raina's smile slipped. "Good night, Moff Hyllus," she replied. "Until the morning."


	17. Chapter 17: Mantras

**Chapter 17: Mantras**

It would get worse before it got better. That knowledge had helped Shannin through hard times before, and she hoped it would be enough now. She was injured, badly injured, and her attempt to hijack her comm implant to call for help had sent her into a seizure that had nearly killed her. Trying again might prove successful, or it might kill her. Shannin didn't want to die. Not now. Not after everything. It would get worse before it got better.

Shannin realized how much of her strength came from repeating hollow mantras and pretending they were truths. They were only truths so long as they worked, and Shannin could tell that this one was falling apart the more she said it. It hadn't gotten better. Things had gotten worse, and then they had just been bad. Bad decisions had led to worse decisions, to being put in a situation where she could only make terrible calls. But she had meant well, she really had. She had wanted to help keep soldiers alive, and she'd done her best. She'd kept Vector alive, though he arguably hadn't needed her help in the first place. She'd kept Raina alive, and Shannin was sure that without her help Raina would have been recruited and discarded by some Sith Lord at one point or another. She'd kept three children alive for this long. If that was it—if she was destined to die now, then maybe that was okay. Maybe she'd kept as many people alive as long as she could, and if she couldn't keep herself alive now without endangering one of them, that was it. She was in bad shape. She knew that. She'd never been this bad off before, not since Darth Jadus.

Shannin tried to sit up in her bloodstained cot as the doors to her cell whirred open. The Cathar warden stepped in, flanked by two droid guards.

"You're losing your touch, Mrs. Tormaris," Vecher said. Her voice was distant. Shannin wondered if messing with her implant had affected her hearing. It seemed like it. She'd broken so much of her body. Bodies weren't meant to be treated like this.

"Yesiam," Shannin slurred back.

One of the droids injected something into her arm. At first Shannin thought that this was it—Vecher was done with her and she was preparing to finish her off and dispose of her. The fun was over. Whatever information she'd wanted didn't matter anymore, but then the injection point began to itch, and a wave of well-being washed over Shannin. It was a kolto-injection. Vecher was healing her.

Which could only mean one thing. That she was going to be tortured again later. Shannin didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She felt instinctively that every minute the woman kept her alive was a mistake, because she wasn't going to tell her anything, even though Shannin had no idea what information she wanted. That assumed, of course, that the woman wanted information from her. This could be recreational. Some beings practiced torture as a sport, most notably the Sith. Vecher would make an excellent Sith.

"You have no idea," Vecher whispered, suddenly only a few inches away from Shannin's, breath rasping on her pointed cat-teeth.

Shannin spat in her face, feeling foolish and victorious. She'd had interrogation subjects spit on her before, and she'd never realized how satisfying it was. Such a feeble act, but it was effective. Vecher stepped back to wipe the spittle from her face, then turned to strike Shannin, but instead of striking her, she caught Shannin by the ear and jerked her head around.

"Are you not having fun?" she hissed in Shannin's ear. "Was this not everything you wanted?"

Shannin laughed. The painkiller was kicking in. She felt half-alive rather than half-dead. Maybe she'd make it out of this alive.

But then one of the guard-droids with a stun-baton approached her, and she knew better than to hope.

* * *

"Everything you wanted," cried the Corporal from the personnel carrier, passing eighteen-year-old Shannin Tormaris a heavy pack of supplies as the shuttle dipped down close enough for Shannin to leap out, landing with a jolt on the duracrete below. She glanced back, up, turbulence from the repulsors threatening to blow her peaked gray cap from her head. She saluted, shouldered the pack and hurried away. At the mining facility several thousand kilometers south of Kaas City, Shannin was farther from home than she'd ever been before, but she felt like for the first time she was exactly where she was supposed to be. In the field.

She'd been young, in peak physical condition and filled with the confidence that went with feeling invincible; knowing that whatever threat her environment produced she would be able to face it. She was the point of the knife, the bolt in the blaster, waiting to be formed. She had felt good. This first assignment would be the last time Shannin felt so unreservedly good; so clear of purpose. She reported to the barracks and signed out her authorization tags. She introduced herself using the name that was on-loan to her, shared a cup of caf with her new CO while paperwork was filled out.

"You know this isn't the Goldsea," the Captain had told her, giving her a hard look. "We work long and hard hours, and I'll be damned if those sniveling flea-bags earn me a less than satisfactory write up at end of deployment. Uppity, that's what they are. I'd rather have droids do the work. Don't need to pay a droid. Of course droids cost one hundred times what an Evocii slave will put you out. That's why we have to put up with them, hmm?"

"Of course," Shannin had said neutrally. "Means to an end."

"Eyes on the prize," the Captain said. His teeth were stained. Perhaps it was the caf, but Shannin could smell chew-grass. She'd pass that along. Military personnel weren't supposed to indulge themselves in recreational drugs, least of all officers, and even more despicably, the Captain's usage was anything but covert. Shannin felt disgusted. _Such rot at the heart of our Empire. _But the Captain would have to be a footnote on her report. She was here to find out if Imperial enforcers were going native and helping the slave revolt.

She settled into her bunk at the barracks and quickly realized she was the only female on her floor. She shared a room with three other junior officers, and they all did a double take when they saw her sitting on the edge of the spare bunk flipping through screens on her datapad. None of them said anything, but Shannin watched them give one another hard, sympathetic looks, then leave the room together to complain. She heard their muted voices whining from the other side of the door. She smiled. To them she was just a new, inconvenient bunk-mate intruding on their pre-formed sense of community. They didn't know that she was actually Intelligence—and they never would.

After she had unpacked and changed into her field uniform, Shannin reported for duty at the edge of the military camp. The camp was poised above a deep ravine with nothing but a slender durasteel bridge spanning the distance above the work-camp to the far side, where a series of platforms led the way down. There was a lift as well on the near side, but it wasn't working and nobody seemed keen on getting it repaired. Shannin removed a pair of turbo-binoculars from her side pocket and took a look at the camp below. Evocii with guns patrolled the face of the cliff below where their overseers, Shannin included, watched.

"How did the Evocii get _guns_?" she asked, incredulous.

A nearby officer joined her. He was a thickly built man, with scars on his cheeks that he wore with pride.

"You must be the new recruit?" he said.

Shannin snapped off a salute and waited to be told she could be at ease. The man sized her up first, letting her hold the pose for a full minute before letting her relax. "I'm Lieutenant Corian Shye," he said. "Camp requisitions officer. You're the new face of Hawkbat Unit?"

"I am, sir."

"You know, there's not many females that enlist," he said. "Fewer still on commission, but we've got them all here, Ensign Loks. You know why I think that is?"

"Why sir?" Shannin asked. Private Yanna Loks was her new name.

"Because this is the home-world," Shye explained. "You girls are keen to get your hands dirty, but not your boots." _Oh great,_ Shannin thought. _Another misogynist._ "You're all too timid to take an assignment off-world. You know what gets people killed, Ensign Loks?"

"Being timid, sir?" Shannin asked. She wasn't sure if Shye was pleased or furious with her answer.

"Yes it does," he replied finally. "Timidness gets you just as dead here as it does on the front lines. Now I won't waste good men cleaning up after female timidness, understood?"

"Yes sir," she said crisply.

"Good," Shye snapped back. "Now those furry flea-bags down are a far cry from being timid, Ensign, and that's a problem. I've never seen slaves act this way before. Most of them are meek and mild, Ensign. They'll just wait for someone to tell them what to do. Not anymore. Go rendez-vous with your unit, and go beat the proper balance of things back into those slaves. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir," Shannin said, saluted again, and watched the Lieutenant walk away. Rotten to the core. She wanted to spit. Instead she reported to her station with the intention of introducing herself to her squad. There were five of them total. One women besides herself and three men. All human, of course, all tired looking but in good-spirits. They were on furlough at the moment, playing a quick game of sabbacc before it was their turn to clean the cafeteria. That didn't mean much, since droids did all the work, but the droids weren't strong enough to lift the tables, so it was their job to wait until the droids had scrubbed the tables down, then stack them off to the side so the room could be used to house physical therapy for injured soldiers. When that was done they returned to the rec-room, which was filled with smoke, while a rusty music-box spat out the same verse of the same song ten times in a row before someone whacked it. She spotted her squad right where they'd promised to be, huddled in a corner booth. Two were men and one a woman. They weren't laughing or drinking like some of the other groups Shannin could see, but then again this squad was newly formed. They hadn't had the time to get to know one another very well yet, which was why Shannin was able to masquerade as the fourth member of their squad for the time being. She crossed the room and said hello.

"Welcome to the jungle," one of the men said to Shannin. He was young, about her age, and underneath his loose-fitting off-duty field grays she could see he was skinny. He had probably just barely passed the physicals.

"I'm from Dromund Kaas," she told him politely, sliding into an empty spot on the round booth. "This isn't my first time in the jungle."

"Yeah it is," the other man said. He was bigger, a typical looking army boy with close-cropped dark hair, fair skin, and grayish eyes. He had thin lips and crooked teeth. "If a planet were a creature I'd say you probably lived on the head before. Welcome to the ass, Ensign, what was it, Lok?"

"Loks," Shannin corrected. "Yanna."

"I'm not from Dromund Kaas," the other woman chimed in. "I'm from Ilum."

"You're handling the heat and humidity admirably for someone from such a cold planet," Shannin observed.

One of their squad-mates snickered.

"What's so funny?" Shannin asked, glancing askance at the other female. The woman was blushing.

"Well," the laugher, the bigger man, explained, "Maybe it's from the heat, but Ensign Gera _does_ have a bit of her problem keeping her clothes—ow!" The woman, Ensign Gera, punched him in the shoulder.

Shannin arched her eyebrows.

"Sorry," Gera apologised. "Don't listen to him. There was just one time. One guy. I mean, it's no excuse…And I thought I was lucky to be with someone from the old squad."

"Don't worry, Ensign Gera," Shannin assured her with a hard, mocking look at the man Gera'd punched. "Dromund Kaas men are known for having _issues_ with female sexuality. They're not used to having girls around in the military, are they?"

The man grumbled and said something half defensive, half apologetic.

"They don't castrate _you_ when you sign up, do they?" Shannin asked ruthlessly. "Oh dear, that might explain a great deal." Nobody laughed. She knew she'd overstepped the line and wondered if either of these men would challenge her on it. It had been different with Intelligence. She certainly hadn't learned how to play nice there. Whatever contact she'd had with other agents had always been a scathing battle of wits when it wasn't a literal battle with real knives or fists arranged for training purposes. Then again at the end of the day Intelligence didn't have to count on one another—not other agents, anyway. Agents trusted their Minders, Fixers, and of course the Keeper, but not one another. These squads were different. She'd do well to be kinder.

"Sorry," she muttered unconvincingly as the two men fumed. "I've got a sour sense of humor. Let me buy the first round?"

Both of the men seemed satisfied with this. They exchanged looks, shrugged, and nodded. Shannin let out a sigh of relief and waved the serving droid over. The skinny man and the thin lipped man introduced themselves formally as Ensigns Paevo and Thorner respectively. They had good, firm handshakes.

"So we're on patrol duty this evening, right?" the woman asked. "I was on laundry duty this morning. I didn't have time to check."

"We sure are," the skinny man, Paevo, confirmed. "Hey Gera, what's it like? This is my first patrol."

Ensign Gera looked a little uneasy, but she shrugged. "About how you'd expect. You're walk around with a real big rifle in your hands, hoping some half-wit slave doesn't decide to take their issues out on you."

Paevo laughed again. "Scared? Of Evocii? Strong breeze oughta take care of them, innit? Never mind a proper rifle. What are we working with again? SoroSuubs?"

But Thorner wasn't amused. His shoulders tensed up and he gave the smaller man a hard look. Whatever pleasure he'd found in making fun of his female squad-mate before had evaporated. Gera herself looked angry, but she was hiding it better. Nobody answered Paevo's question.

"What?" he asked, spreading his hands palm-up on the table. "Ah there, drinks are arrived."

Shannin passed each of them the plastic mugs of ale and nodded her head to the two rattled squad-mates. "Paevo, step off," she muttered. "Gera and Thorner lost their squad on a routine patrol."

"A routine patrol?" Paevo repeated, incredulous, which was exactly the wrong thing for him to say then, but much to Shannin's surprise, it was Gera who reached across the table and seized Paevo by his collar and hauled him forward until he sloshed a good quarter of his drink across the table. Shannin snagged the towel hooked over the arm of a passing serving droid and mopped it up.

"A routine bloody patrol," Gera growled, suddenly a very different girl than the one that had blushed for being teased. "Because that's how this works, nuna-neck. One minute you're out on a routine patrol checking up on curfew in the slave barracks, the next thing you know the speeder in front of you blows up, and shrapnel punches through your mate's skull like a Harrower breaking atmo because the dumb Hutt took his helmet off because it was too warm. Ten seconds later you're pinned down beneath what's left of your own speeder while a bunch of Evocii chuck bottles full of home-made lung-poppers at you. You leave your re-breather in the damn speeder and end up pulling one off your dead mate's corpse while what's left of your squad gathers up the pieces of itself and calls for an extraction. On a routine patrol." Gera let go of Paevo's collar and sat down. "Stiff breeze my backside," she turned and spat on the floor.

Thorner seemed to approve. He downed the last of his ale and nodded to Paevo. "Next round's yours, I take it."

A smile split Gera's face. "It's not so bad having trash-talking squadmates."

Shannin gave her a wry half-smile, but she couldn't help but notice that Gera's hands were still shaking. As if she had now noticed herself, Gera reached for her ale and took a long gulp. When she was finished the drink she said goodnight and headed to bed. Thorner gave Paevo a playful punch in the shoulder.

"You're scaring off all the girls," he joked, but Paevo was still too mortified to do anything. "What's wrong with me," he grumbled. "I can't shut up, can I?"

"Nuna-neck," Shannin decided to tease. "That's going to stick."

"Beats what we were calling him before," Thorner agreed.

"What did you call me before?" Paevo asked.

"Don't want to scare the ladies away," Thorner guffawed and banged his second empty mug down on the table. "Well, I'm going to get my rest, too. Bright and early, nuna-neck. See you then."

Shannin said goodnight to Thorner and decided to wait and keep an eye on Paevo. If he decided to hit the drink out of self-pity he may well end up getting killed in the morning, routine patrol or no. Most patrols didn't end like Gera and Thorner's. The slaves were, for the most part, docile and pleasantly intimidated by their Imperial overlords. Every now and then one faction or another among the slaves got a hold of someone with the know-how to create real trouble, and then the Evocii got, as the CO had indelicately put it, "uppity." Gera and Thorner's squad had been the last incident in which there'd been fatalities. The soldiers in the car in front of Gera's squad had all been killed, and not all from the initial explosion but one from the gas the Evocii had used, and then one man from Gera and Thorner's squad had died, and the other had suffered multiple amputations from the first blast, along with badly burned lungs. Thorner had been in hospital for some time, too, due to lung issues, but those had been fixed with kolto treatment and Thorner was returned to duty.

But Shannin's task here wasn't the welfare of her squad, or even really to discipline Evocii slaves. The gas that had been used on the former squad had been made out of toxins from Dromund Kaas, and while it was home-assembled, key components were sophisticated, lab-grown ones that could only be found in military stocks. Someone from the military had supplied the slaves with one of the ingredients for their chemical weapon, and Shannin was here to find out who.

Imperial Intelligence had a contact on the inside, an Evocii slave that had been persuaded to sell secrets to the Sith—whether by stick or carrot, Shannin didn't know. She would make contact with this asset during the routine patrol and the asset would pass her a piece of flimsi with some sort of information on it. They'd used dead-drops before, but that had gotten two previous assets killed already. The Evocii were unsurprisingly intolerant of any kinsmen who sold secrets to their overlords. The work camp was densely populated, with Evocii tightly packed into what was increasingly turning into a slum. There was no place discrete to leave messages. Comm traffic wasn't safe, not that any of the Evocii had access to a comlink. Giving them one would have only painted a target on their head. Intelligence had learned that the hard way.

Finishing her second cup of ale, Shannin said goodnight to "Nuna-neck" Paevo and headed to bed. She recognized Gera among the women in her dorm. She was lying on her side in her bunk, sleeping peacefully. Shannin wondered what medication she was on. Even then Shannin hadn't been completely naive. For a moment Shannin felt a surge of moral clarity. She was keeping this poor sleeping soldier safe. Whoever was giving the unfortunate slaves chemical components needed to be stopped. Their lot was rough, she agreed, but killing Imperial soldiers wasn't going to change anything. She disassembled her rifle and put it back together in its case, counted her magazine, brushed dirt off her boots, and went to bed like a good soldier. It occurred to her that if it hadn't been for Intelligence she'd be Gera right now. That's what she'd wanted to be, before. Shannin felt asleep with an almost smug sense of satisfaction that she was so much more than a foot-soldier.

* * *

The squad ate together, suited up together, and set out together before the sun rose the next day. They went on foot. Their garrison was short on groundcars and would be shorter still if the slaves continued to blow them up. The going was slow, but it let them have a real good look at the slave barracks and surrounding slum on the valley bottom. In the distance hummed the constant sound of drilling and hammering as the rock-face was transformed into the likeness of whatever Sith Lord the Evocii were busy carving. The finished monument would take up the entire mountain face beside the bridge—an impressive sentry. Shannin couldn't remember the name of the Sith Lord. It bothered her.

"Hey Nuna-neck, who's the Colossus monument to, anyway?" she asked.

Nuna-neck, Paevo, shrugged. He had accepted the nickname with little resistance. "Don't ask me, I'm just a humble grunt."

"Gera?" she asked.

Ensign Gera shrugged as well. "Don't look at me, Loks. What I don't need to know, I don't care to know."

Darth Malak? Probably. Shannin decided that this was the right answer. It was logical, though there were a hundred other logical possibilities. Damn, and she'd always been so good in history class. Maybe her brain just didn't have room for that information anymore. Maybe that part of her brain was now occupied by a list of poisons that didn't affect humans but could kill or injure a dozen other species, or how to negotiate with Madalorians, or the most mess-free way to kill a man with any sort of shiv in ten seconds or less. Yes, her brain was full of other useful information now. The name of the Sith Lord on the mountainside didn't really matter now.

But none of that information prepared her for the slums. She knew she'd be appalled by them. She hadn't been so indoctrinated as not to feel for the sufferings of living beings. The old half-dilapidated houses that had been erected around the slave barracks weren't fit to shelter cattle let alone sentients. Some people found the Evocii repugnant, but the only thing that turned Shannin's stomach was their suffering. They were humanoid aliens, normally without hair on their heads, and vaguely feline features that in certain cases let them be confused with Cathar. They'd been forced off their home planet by the Hutts and then enslaved or excluded from galactic society. On Dromund Kaas the Evocii had been brought in to perform some construction work in the outlying areas where the going was too rough for actual citizens of the empire. The slave barracks had been built near the foot of the Colossus mountain when it was decided that the mountain be transformed into a monument, and as the construction dragged on over generations, the slums had cropped up around it. At first they'd had half-decent living accommodations; four walls and a roof if no running water, but after the initial construction of the slums the Sith had stopped funding and decided that if the Evocii wanted more comfortable living conditions they'd have to find it off-world, but not before they finished their work. Staring at the raw cliffs in the distance above them, Shannin reckoned that day was still at least a generation away.

They passed between the durasteel huts. Nobody came out to greet them. They weren't a strange sight and far from a welcome one. The slaves were used to the Imperial patrols, and they knew how to spot a troublesome patrol and how to tell when one would be harmless if left alone. Some patrols went actively looking for trouble, and it always ended in blood. That blood was rarely Imperial. Shannin felt sick. The degradation these being lived with turned her stomach.

_They'll finish the Colossus, get off world, and then it'll be done. No more suffering._ Another mantra she'd come to believe. Things will be different when the work's done. Finish the job, and then think about it, not the other way around.

Shannin caught a glimpse of movement in between the houses. It was a child, maybe ten or so—she couldn't be sure. She didn't know how quickly Evocii young grew. The child was female, and wore a loose dress, probably an adult's shirt, belted at the waist with a cord. She had sandals on her feet, which were grimy like they hadn't been washed in weeks. They probably hadn't.

Thorner raised his rifle at the child and issued a warning. "Keep your distance, Evocii."

"Relax," Shannin bid him, and then noticed that the child had something in its hand. "She's just a little girl."

Thorner just spat.

Shannin slung her rifle over her shoulder and approached the child. The little Evocii girl waited patiently at the side of the road, shoulder pressed to the wall of a lean-to. Yes, she had a piece of flimsi in her hand. It was crisp and only a little dirty. Could this be her asset? A child? Maybe the asset had to work today and the child was bringing her the information instead. Maybe the asset was the child's father.

When Shannin reached the little girl, the Evocii tugged on the hem of her uniform to get her to kneel down. Shannin complied. They pretended to shake hands and the girl tucked the piece of flimsi into Shannin's cuff, but she didn't let go.

"Please," she whispered. She had large amber eyes—larger than a human child's eyes. "My dada goes now?"

Shannin frowned.

"Loks, come on," Nuna-neck called, bored. Her squad was moving on.

The child's eyes brimmed. "I give you list, you give my dad back. It's our _agreement._" She said the word agreement like it was a secret code word.

"Of course," Shannin said, though she had no idea what the child was talking about. "As soon as I get back from my patrol, I'll ensure your father's freed."

The child shook her head desperately and shot a furtive glance over her shoulder. "Call now, on your wrist. There won't be a get back. You have to call now."

Shannin leaned closer to the girl, and now it was Shannin holding the child in place by her wrist and not the other way around. "What do you mean we won't be getting back?" Her voice was low.

The child opened her mouth, but before she could explain Shannin heard a small wet thud as a bullet tore through the Evocii's chest. The girl collapsed, and Shannin took a quick step backwards, hoisting her rifle. Another bullet came hurtling towards her, burying itself in her collar. Shannin had never been shot before, let alone by a real bullet. The pain was indescribable, but after a few seconds of fear and shock she had her laser-rifle in her hands and was shooting in the direction that the shot had come from. Her squadmates were doing the same, and then all of a sudden their routine patrol had turned into a skirmish. Their patrol dropped into cover positions, Nuna-neck dropping down in the shelter of the lean-to and pulling a pad of steri-gauze and some adhesive tape from his belt kit and tending to Shannin's wound.

"Bullets!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, we'll pull it out later," Nuna-neck told her. "They got their hands on some antique weapons here. I just hope they don't have any Hutt-cocktails."

"What?" Shannin asked, but before Nuna-neck could reply the lean-to burst into flame and a small explosion blew the roof out. They ducked out into the street and it began to rain.

It was a bizarre moment. Another Hutt-cocktail, a glass bottle with fuel and a flaming rag stuck in it, came soaring towards them. They sprinted out of the way to where Gera and Thorner were holding a position inside one of the larger, sturdier huts, while rainwater rang off the tin-roofs and turned the dust to mud.

"That's why you don't talk to the slaves," Thorner snapped at her.

Shannin ignored him. There couldn't be too many Evocii out there, but they knew the area better and had the element of surprise. But it wouldn't last long. There was a patrol due to follow them in an hour if they didn't call in and ask for help.

Shannin turned to Gera to suggest that they split up and start counting targets, but Gera just spat at her feet. Shannin paused.

"You're Intelligence, aren't you?" she hissed.

"What are you talking about?" Shannin asked.

Gera simply shook her head. "Fine, be that way. Loks, you any good with a sniper rifle?"

"I scored expert," Shannin replied dismissively. "Why?"

"Because I shot one of their snipers a few doors over. These SoroSuubs haven't got any range on them. They'll pick us off from their hidey-holes, antiques or not. We'll cover you, you get to that gun, and we pick them off instead. I'm tired of calling in e-vac."

Shannin nodded. "Where's the rifle?"

Gera nodded to their left. "Three doors down, still cradled in the arms of the Evocii that was firing it. Target count?"

"I saw five moving," Thorner replied. "Not sure if that counts your corpse."

"Four," Nuna-neck countered. They worked out the last known locations of the possible five targets, then wordlessly slipped out of cover, firing hailstorm of laser-bolts that never reached their targets, but sizzled through the rain. Someone threw another Hutt-cocktail, but it fell short and ignited the shed Shannin was overtaking. The smoke and fire gave her good cover, as much as it kept her from seeing much around her, but she managed to make it to the hut with Gera's dead sniper.

The gun was an antique—no electronics systems, which also meant no power supply needed. Shannin was used to only using magazine when special armor-piercing rounds were needed and simple laser-bolts weren't enough. She checked the carbine and found three shots left. With a little luck, that meant only two targets for her squad-mates to take out. She slithered out of the hut on her belly, taking cover in the still-billowing cloud of smoke from the Hutt-cocktail. To her back were more houses that they had assessed as clear. She ought to be in a good position, but then a bullet tore into the dirt next to her head.

She heard the chatter of blaster-fire and then Thorner's voice sounded in her ear. "We're good, Loks. Clear out those snipers for us."

"Pretty please," Gera chimed in.

Shannin smirked. It was hard seeing through the smoke. She pulled on her goggles and narrowed the focus in on stoop of a distant lean-to that Gera was certain housed a sniper. The Evocii hadn't fired in a while and was due to come out to try and get a better position. As soon as he stepped out, Shannin would have him.

_Fire between the heartbeats_. But her heart was beating so fast. Her target stepped out, she pulled the trigger, and the Evocii dropped. She heard the others cheer. Shannin crouched, rolled, and took cover back inside the hut. Another Hutt-cocktail smashed against the window, leaking flaming fuel inside her hideout. Instead of fleeing, which was certainly the thrower's aim, Shannin balanced the rifle on the edge of the flaming window and sought the Evocii out. He was a fat one, slow moving and in close range. She called into her comm, "Don't make me waste a bullet on this one."

A blaster fired, and the Evocii dropped. Shortly afterward, another blaster went off.

"Two left," Gera's voice said over the comm. They're out of range for us. Try on the roofs further back. There's either a bundle of cloths or an Evocii up there. It's hard to tell. The rain's darkened everything."

"This is why we enlisted," Shannin sang. "Best tech in the business." She sorted through filters on her goggles, finally finding the infrared setting. She hadn't realized it before, but there were Evocii everywhere. There were maybe five aggressors, but the slums were far from empty. They were there cowering in the shadows, huddled together in little balls out of the way. Shannin felt bad for them. Maybe the rebel slaves didn't speak for all of them. Maybe some of them just wanted to get on with things and be left alone.

Shannin found him. The Evocii sniper was belly-down on the roof of a house just out of range of the squad. Shannin set up her rifle on the windowsill, peered through the scope, checked the wind, factored in the rain, stilled her body, and fired.

It wasn't a kill shot. She didn't know what part of the Evocii she had hit. He was just a huddle of red on the rooftop, but she heard him cry out, even at that distance. Suddenly the rest of her squad was moving, sprinting towards him. They closed the distance rapidly, and then three short shots went off.

"Done," Thorner's voice confirmed.

Shannin stayed in position while her squad ducked into the house the sniper had been hiding on. They were in a dangerous spot now—almost out or range of her blaster-rifle, while in range of another sniper. There was one more. It was probably a sniper, and probably placed somewhere up high. She thought of the little Evocii girl, how she'd collapsed, and the way the bullet had torn through her chest. But the bullet had entered from behind her neck. Shannin glanced back at where the little girl's body lay and past it to the distant, forbidding block of slave barracks.

Red moved in a window.

Shannin didn't have time to wonder if it was the sniper or an uninvolved slave. She couched down on one knee. It was a long shot. She should have used a tripod, but she hadn't brought one with her. The slightest quiver and the shot would be way off at that distance. She might even miss the entire building. She hadn't made a shot this far, this fast, without the proper equipment since…well, since training.

But Shannin had scored expert.

She leveled the antique sniper rifle, loaded the bullet into the barrel, and fired between the heartbeats.

The other sniper fired at the exact same moment. The difference was, the other sniper was nowhere near as good as Shannin was. His bullet tore into the wet earth five meters off target, while Shannin's punched through his throat, dropping him instantly. Her squad-mates cheered. A groundcar rumbled down the dirt road.

"Backup's arrived," Gera's voice said triumphantly. "Let's move out. Good work, Loks."

"Anytime," Shannin replied, gathering up her blaster-rifle and the antique sniper rifle and sprinting to the armored groundcar. They were waved inside and the doors slammed behind them, then the car pulled a u-turn and began to take them back to base. Through the rain on the transparisteel windows Shannin saw two more squads moving in to clean up the damage, and Shannin pulled her helmet off.

Nuna-neck reached out and ruffled her hair. "Well done, Loks," he cheered.

Thorner was all smiles too, his crooked teeth adding to the impression of cheerfulness. Gera beamed reservedly.

"I even got a souvenir," Shannin said, checking the barrel then flicking the safety on the rifle and letting her squadmates pass it around.

"I can't believe people still use these," Nuna-neck exclaimed.

"Not people, Evocii," Thorner pointed out with a guffaw.

"Hey, it's effective enough," Shannin said, pulling the collar of her uniform back. The makeshift bandage was completely bloody, and it still hurt like hell, but she was functional. "Get this thing out of me."

The groundcar reached the garrison within a few minutes, and the squad unloaded, saluted to the driver, and let themselves be herded inside for debrief.

"Drinks are on me tonight!" Gera declared.

Shannin caught the eye of the Captain. He was grim faced, his gray uniform neatly pressed as ever, and she noted that he was taking extra care to remain under the awning of the main complex, out of the rain.

"I'll meet you lot at the debrief," she said. "I need a 'fresher."

The three soldiers howled with laughter.

Shannin proceeded to the Captain, saluted, and let herself be led in the opposite direction of her squad. A medical droid accompanied them.

Once they were behind closed doors, the droid cut away the shoulder of Shannin's uniform and set about removing the bullet and redressing her wound. At the same time, the Captain poured her a glass of something strong and dark, which Shannin declined.

"You have the list?"

Shannin nodded, fishing the slightly-damp piece of flimsi from her sleeve. The rush of victory and the elation of her squad seemed to drain away like water in a sink.

The Captain unfolded the list and read the names solemnly. "Some surprises. Some expected. You did well, Agent."

Shannin nodded. "Our asset was the child?" she asked suddenly.

The Captain gave her a hard, weighing look. "The Empire knows better than to turn down quality intel. The girl wanted something very badly from us, and we wanted something very badly from her people. An exchange was made."

Shannin clenched her jaw. "And were you actually going to release her father to her?"

The Captain was silent. He finished his glass of whatever and then finished Shannin's as well. "Yes. But I suppose we can dispose of him the easy way, now. The Empire does not like to take prisoners. This one has outlived his usefulness. Such a shame. I really do think Intelligence meant to release him if the girl cooperated. Of course, it has yet to be seen if these names are any good." The Captain poured another drink, tried once more to offer it to Shannin, and then took a slow, deliberate sip.

Shannin flinched as the med-droid fished around inside her wound for the bullet. It kept going in and coming out with shrapnel. Wasn't it just supposed to be a ball?

"Hold still," the droid bid her. "I've got the bullet out, but it's embedded one of your buttons inside as well, and the button shattered." The droid administered a topical painkiller and Shannin released a pent-up breath. Her mind wasn't on the wound, anyway. It was on the Evocii child. She'd known about the attack. Somehow that didn't change anything for Shannin. The girl had done her part, and she deserved to have her father freed. It was only fair.

Shannin said as much and the Captain threw his head back and laughed. "Fair? Sith spit you're green, aren't you? The Imperial Army isn't in the business of doing favors for slaves. They're our _property_, understand? You don't replace the gaskets on a speeder with busted repulsors."

Shannin's heart raced. "It'd be worth it," she said quickly.

"How so?" the Captain asked, still laughing.

Shannin didn't know. She made something up, and as she said the words she knew she was right. "The rabble-rousers shot this man's daughter. Up until today they probably looked like heroes. We gun them down, we make them into martyrs. They gun one another down, it's a different story. The girl's father can spread that story." She took a deep breath. "You know as well as I do that these kind of movements are built on unity and self-righteousness. We take away one or both of those, and you pull the rug out from under the entire movement."

The Captain paused to consider Shannin's suggestion. Shannin held her breath. "Damn, that's good." He grinned at her. "They do make 'em different at Intelligence, don't they?"

"I should like to hope so," Shannin replied icily.

That seemed to put a damper on the Captain's good mood. He set his glass down and fished around in his desk for a datapad. "After-action report. You can fill it out on the way to the shuttle."

Shannin's heart sank. Shuttle. Not drinks with her squad. Of course they weren't really her squad. She was Intelligence. Her work was done. Tossing back lum and making friends wasn't what she was here for. That list of names on flimsi was, and now that it was over, it was time to leave. "What happens to Yanna Loks?" she asked.

"Dead," the Captain replied dismissively. "Infection, complications from the bullet. Maybe it was poison." He shrugged.

Dead. Just like that. "I'd like to recommend Ensign Gera for a promotion," she said. "She's a natural leader and a top notch soldier."

"Not going to happen," the Captain replied. "She's got a black mark on her record for conduct unbecoming at a previous garrison, but you can file it in your after-action report. That's what it's for."

Shannin glanced at the data-pad and nodded. "Yes, sir." She saluted unnecessarily, pocketed the datapad, and headed to the flight-deck. A shuttle was indeed waiting for her, with a wide comfortable seat in a private section, away from the pilots. There was a holo-terminal in the armrest with a call waiting. Shannin activated it.

Keeper's image appeared before her.

"Well done, agent." Genuine pleasure was evident in Keeper's voice, but his expression was too small and grainy to make out. "You've exceeded even _my_ expectations. Congratulations on your first kill."

Shannin felt cold. Was it her first kill? It was. Which one had it been? Which Evocii was it? He'd been fair, with a mop of light brown hair just like her own. Where had she shot him? She didn't remember. Gods, she didn't even remember. Her training had been so thorough; the impulse to finish her adversary before they finished her so deeply ingrained in Shannin's being for so long before that routine patrol that it hadn't even been a shock. She wanted to shudder. She wanted to cry or be sick, but her body wouldn't comply. Her hands weren't shaking. She was still and calm and cold. Very cold.

"Thank you," she found herself saying.

"If the names check out I'll be sure to see that you get a little bonus."

Bonus? Shannin had forgotten that she was paid for this. Of course she was. Hers was a job like any other. Well, not like _any_ other.

"And good thinking about releasing the father," Keeper added. "Your initiative and thoughtfulness is impressive. You're going to make a fine agent, Shannin Tormaris. Maybe even a Cipher one day."

Shannin nodded. "Thank you, sir," she replied. "Nothing would make me happier." And nothing would, would it? She was doing what she wanted, wasn't she? She had kept three soldiers alive today. Her skills and the intel she'd retrieved would keep others alive, too. The coldness ebbed. Yes, this was what she'd wanted to do. She was exactly where she needed to be. "Where to next, sir?"

"Come home," Keeper told her. "I hear you were especially good with a sniper rifle. We may have some presents for you back and HQ."

Shannin's heart leapt with genuine joy. A sniper rifle—a real laser rifle this time, too. She'd like that. "Thank you." Yes, this was what she'd wanted.


	18. Chapter 18: Breaking Down Shadow Town

**Chapter 18: Breaking Down Shadow Town**

When Junaida's ship dropped out of hyperspace near Nar Shaddaa there was a message waiting for Corso on his private holo-terminal. He closed the door to his quarters and retrieved it, but it was just a standard ping-back from Vondo Tormaris. He retransmitted his location, and a few moments later he had a live call. Corso accepted it.

"Corso, are you alone?" Vondo's palm-sized holograph was crisp and clear on the terminal.

"Yeah, sure," Corso assured him with a glance at the closed door.

"Good," Vondo replied. His shoulders were slumped, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"What's up, captain?" Corso asked.

"I need a hand," Vondo began to explain. "With something that I want Juni kept out of." He took a deep breath. "I've just discovered that Shannin's in trouble here on Nar Shaddaa. She's being held in Shadow Town. I'm not sure for how long already. Three days, probably. She might not even be alive, but I have Jedi telling me she's in big trouble, and I'm not one to argue with the Force. I need firepower and I need it now."

"You don't even have to ask," Corso assured him. "We're just arriving on Nar Shaddaa now. You sure you want me to give Juni the slip?"

"Yes," said Vondo firmly. "This is going to be very dangerous, Corso. There might even be casualties. I'm putting together a team to go in, and I could use you."

"A team?" Corso asked.

Vondo's image nodded. "As much power as we can get. Make no mistake about it, Corso. This is going to be messy. We're breaking down Shadow Town."

Corso released a pent-up breath. "Finally."

* * *

Of course Shannin remembered. She couldn't _not_ remember, and not because Vecher called in a woman in a white coat who had injected something into Shannin's arm that activated her brainwashing and brought that single memory to the fore and would let her think of anything else. It was the day she'd met Darth Jadus. That day had changed everything.

It was after Nal Hutta. She'd been in service for three years and she was good. They'd just assigned Kaylio Djannis to her and the two of them had successfully done whatever it was they were supposed to do on the Hutt home-world. Shannin was a lethal sniper trained in

infiltration, manipulation, and assassination. She'd caught the attention of the Sith at long last.

Dromund Kaas was a Sith world, but Shannin had never really had any contact with them before. She'd had a classmate in primary school who had been hauled off to train on Korriban. Everyone was a little jealous and a little relieved. She didn't fear them, per say, but she didn't want to catch their attention, either. But it was too late for that.

Jadus was a hulking man, made even larger than life by the armor and robes that he wore. A mask and cowl hid his face from view. Shannin remembered his appearance vividly. She remembered the foul scent of his breath, and the way his mere presence had made her feel as though everything rotten in the galaxy was hidden inside of him. Three years later she would kill him. But on that day on Nal Hutta he'd been a pleased superior officer deigning to personally show approval for the kill-scores of a young agent. He'd been kind, if a Sith is capable of such a thing.

She hadn't paid attention then, but she paid attention now as the memory was forced on her by the mind control system Vecher's medics were manipulating in her. Jadus had an apprentice then; a smaller, cowled form that had followed in his shadows like a loyal, bloodthirsty strill. The apprentice hadn't spoken, and Shannin hadn't bothered to speak to them. She'd wanted to make this encounter as brief as possible. She'd been terrified. They'd probably smelled that on her and delighted in it.

The apprentice had been a woman, but what Shannin had not noticed was that the apprentice had been a Cathar. Force sensitives among the Cathar were rare, though not as rare as Cathar who survived the training on Korriban long enough to become a Sith Apprentice. The Sith had no liking for aliens, and the less humanoid an alien was, the less they liked them. The Cathar were slaves in the eyes of the Sith, so any slave seeking to be trained in the ways of the Dark Side would have to impress them very much. This one clearly had. But Shannin had been more preoccupied with Jadus back then. Now, as she relived the memory vividly and involuntarily, she stared at the apprentice.

It was Vecher. Younger, seeming smaller, but unmistakably the same being as the woman who'd captured Shannin and was holding in Shadow Town, torturing her for what Shannin was sure had been weeks. Or perhaps it was only hours. Days. Years? No, Vecher wouldn't bother keeping her alive for that long. She was still wearing the warden's uniform as she crouched over Shannin, who lay crumpled on the floor with wireless nodes attached to her temples.

"So this is revenge," Shannin croaked, pushing herself to her feet.

Vecher watched her the way a child watches a termite whose wings they've pulled off; with curiosity and confidence in her omnipotence. She could prolong this creature's death or she could end it now. Shannin wasn't sure how long it would be before she finally had her revenge, but if there was one thing she knew about Sith, it was that had an unsurpassed appetite for cruelty.

* * *

It was all just a matter of time before their pasts caught up with them. Vondo didn't stop to consider that whatever trouble Shannin was in was anything else. She used to be the deadliest woman in the Empire. She wouldn't get caught with her guard down by any old street gang. Yes, the past was catching up. Darmas Pollaran had been certain of that the last time he'd spoken with Vondo a few years back. He was an old business friend of Vondo's; another Republic smuggler turned contractor who'd died under mysterious circumstances a year back. Vondo hadn't thought about it much since then. Not until now.

Once you left the game, the game was supposed to leave you alone, but it didn't. Shannin was proof of that. Justice meant something different to everyone, which meant that every suspicious death was somebody's version of justice. A dozen dead beings that had done wrong by Vondo were proof of that. Justice was working for the enemy this time, but Vondo was determined not to let it win. He donned the mid-heft leatheris armor that he hadn't worn in years. He checked the clips of special armor-punching rounds clipped to his belt, as well as the med-pac, in case things got messy when they got into Shadow Town. Things always got messy. This time, he just hoped it was messier for the Imperials than it was for the rag-tag band of thugs he'd managed to assemble.

Some faces were old friends, while others had been bought. Bowdaar was itching to get going, readjusting the harness that held his vibrosword every few minutes. The Jedi Twi'lek had offered her services in combat, and once she'd changed out of the flimsy court garment he'd met her in, she looked like the hardened warrior she claimed to be. He was happy for the extra help, and for the lightsaber in particular. Corso was back, but instead of the bright-eyed little kid he'd taught to shoot cans of the fence of their place on Alderaan, he was a grim-faced mercenary that ran safety checks on his blaster-rifle with the delicate touch of a lover. There were three bounty-hunters that Vondo had bought as well; a little slicer girl with visible cybernetics, and the heavy-armored muscle that accompanied her. Vondo couldn't tell who led and who followed, but he caught a glimpse of blue flesh beneath the helmet of the muscle and knew he had a Chiss working for him now, which stood his hairs on end even while it boosted his confidence. The Chiss had a reputation for being highly skilled at whatever they did. The next in the group was slender and female, and kept her face hidden by a strange silver screen on her ornate helm. She called herself Guran, but had lain her hand on Vondo's arm after he'd briefed them on the job and promised him they'd get his wife out. He recognized her strange lilting accent before she activated the voice filter on her helm. She was Agent Temple, come to even out some scores of her own.

"What kind of scores are they?" Vondo had asked Lithi after introducing the two. "I don't doubt she's doing this to even a score, but is that score in our favor or isn't it?"

"I'm not a mind reader," Lithi had protested obtusely. "And I won't turn tricks. I said I'd help you get your wife back, but not invade people's minds for you."

"This is important," Vondo insisted. "I don't want her here if she's going to turn coat on us half way in."

Lithi grimaced, but finally focused her attention on the disguised Imperial agent. "I sense her concern, and her desire to help. Genuine. She's not a plant."

"Good," Vondo said, releasing a heavy sigh. "Then we're to leave her alone and pretend we haven't figured out who she is. Understood?"

Vondo turned to Corso, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Look, son, if I don't get out of this alive—"

"Captain, don't finish that sentence," Corso cut in, snapping a scope onto his rifle and adjusting it. "Every time you do, you owe me a pint of lum when we eventually do walk out with not a scratch on us. If my memory serves me right you already owe me more than I can rightly handle, so just stop while you're ahead."

Vondo patted Corso on the back. "Sensible boy. Okay everybody. Here we go."

* * *

Everything came back to Nar Shaddaa. Vondo snapped a fresh power-pack onto his blaster and paused to wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead. His team fell into step behind him wordlessly. The slicer-girl tended to a blaster-burn on Kothe's hip despite the old man's protests.

"I need you in that tower to open the doors," Vondo said to her. Her name was Mako. She was just a kid, no older than Juni, probably, but she was a slicer genius. Or at least she'd promised to be. If she wasn't, well then they were either going to need a lot of luck or a lot more firepower.

"Roger that," Mako chirped cheerfully. "And you still want me to release a virus into their computer system when I'm done?"

"Yes," Vondo confirmed. "Maximum damage, please."

"I'm going with her," the Chiss bounty hunter, Kespar, said.

"No, I need you with me," Vondo countered. "You've got a jet-pack that might come in handy if they lock down the inner courtyards. There are walls we might need to get over. Corso can keep an eye on her."

"I go with her," Kespar repeated. This was apparently not up for negotiation. Vondo decided to let it go. He'd rather be short one jet pack than short one bounty hunter slicer duo. Kespar and Mako were a package deal, and someone _did _need to watch the girl's back while she performed her magic on Shadow Town's security systems.

"Fine," Vondo ceded with a glance to Corso. The Mantellian merely shrugged. "Corso, Bowdaar, help them secure the tower, then come back down here. We'll keep an eye on the gate and try to figure out where she is."

They'd managed to find a fair few bytes of data on Shadow Town's layout, and had a pretty good idea where Shannin would be held. Former servants of the Empire who'd turned coat ended up in the inner sanctum in the highest-security cells. They'd decided that the unused, lowish security lab nearby labelled "processing" was likely some sort of torture centre. Vondo hoped she wasn't there.

It had taken them a day to confirm that Shannin had walked into Shadow Town three days previously. A few vagrants remembered, for a few credits of course, a woman matching her description flashing an ID at the guards and walking in, but never walking out. Vondo knew that she was having trouble with her brainwashing, so he could only assume she'd come here looking answers to that. He couldn't be sure. She hadn't explained everything.

"Can you sense her?" Vondo asked Lithi in a low voice while they stood with pretend casualness at the bottom of the control tower, from which the sounds of muted blasterfire issued every few minutes.

Lithi closed her eyes and breathed deep, but eventually shook her head. "It's like finding a needle in a haystack. I'm trying to feel for despair, pain, or fear in her, but this place is a garden of unhappiness. The farther in you go, the stronger the stench of it is. And I was never close to her. It's easier when you know the person better to find their signature in the Force."

Vondo heard an intake of breath from Agent Temple, and then the croak of her distorted voice come out of the helmet. "She's here. And alive." For now, that was enough. A comm chirped.

"Captain, we're in," Corso reported. "Mako says she might need an hour."

Vondo gritted his teeth. "We're not going to have an hour. Patrols will spot the guards we've killed and they'll send in replacements, which we also don't have time to deal with. Okay Corso, come back down. Leave Kespar and Mako. Kespar," he called, switching frequencies. "Tell her to get in and initiate a lockdown. I want guards pinned wherever they are once you can do it. If we can't get in unnoticed, we'll have to limit the heat we take."

"Got it," the bounty hunter confirmed. Vondo heard Mako's voice in the background. "She says she'll lock it down and program in manual override codes. We'll meet you guys inside once that's done to open the rest of the doors. We've got business of our own in the high-sec anyway."

Of course they did. Vondo grimaced. He knew the man wasn't just in this for the paltry fee Vondo was giving him. A good bounty hunter knew how to make the most money from the least effort. And Kespar had a reputation for being good. "Make sure you don't leave the tower door unlocked behind you," Vondo said.

"Oh, don't worry boss. We know how to leave a mess behind."

Vondo was sure they did.

* * *

Risha had a reputation here, of that Junaida was sure. They stepped on to Drooga's pleasure barge and half a dozen alien guests turned to call her name and smile politely. Risha smiled politely right back, no matter how many of them looked at her like something tasty they'd been wanting to devour for quite some time—figuratively and then in other cases not so figuratively.

Behind them they carted the curtained cage. Risha's "personal belongings," it turned out, was all cargo to be delivered. She promised to cut Junaida in on the profits if she helped out. The beast inside the cage had awoken and pressed its pinkish snout to the bars, revealing sharp teeth and darting silver eyes. Junaida felt sorry for it. She had avoided the cargo bay, but the thought of the poor animal cooped up aboard her ship like that made her long for Alderaan again, herself. They went straight to Drooga, bypassing his aids and speakers to stand before the corpulent Hutt himself. Junaida thought they should maybe bow, but Risha didn't so she didn't either.

"Drooga," Risha called in greeting. "It's been a while. You look well."

-Not as well as you do, little Risha,- the Hutt crooned in Huttese. -Tell me you'll finally join my little family. My last favorite dancer didn't show up today, and now we have nothing pretty to look at. You know how I like to collect pretty things. Or is that why you've brought your friend?-

A couple of the nearby members of Drooga's "family" chuckled. The vicious looking Twi'lek who stood at the massive Hutt's side laughed mockingly. -She looks like a boy, Drooga!-

-Ha! She does!-

Junaida arched an eyebrow at Risha. Risha gave her a small smile. "Actually, it's a female Shanjanru I had hoped to give you," Risha went on. "The last female Shanjanru in the galaxy."

Risha turned and pulled the curtains off the crate. The animal inside bellowed, its cry fading into a high-pitched whine. It was in bad shape, of that Junaida was sure. She'd never seen a Shanjaru except in holos, but the creature's fur was thin and in some places patchy, and there were lacerations on its hind end like it had been whipped or attacked. But it was the last of its kind.

The court had gone quiet. Drooga looked contemplative. He took a long drag on the slender pipe clenched in the corner of his mouth and exhaled through his tiny nostrils. -Ah, but Risha, I only wanted the pair.-

"And you've already got the male," Risha pointed out.

Drooga blew smoke rings. -Not anymore I don't. I sold my male to a cousin on Tattooine. I tried, but nobody sells me the female, so I told him it was the last in the galaxy.-

"Drooga," Risha scolded playfully. "I told you I'd make sure you had the set. Have I ever let you down before?"

Drooga guffawed. -No, little Risha. You haven't. But the unfortunate thing is, I still want the set. Get me back my male Shanjaru, and I will give you what I promised for the female.-

Risha scowled. "Drooga dear, it's not my fault you don't trust me when you should."

Drooga set the pipe aside and spat, the substance spattering across the floor with surprising force. A globule landed on Junaida's boot. She flinched. -And it's not my problem that you now have one more little job to do for me. If you want your hyperdrive, you do this for me.-

Risha seemed to weigh the proposal. "Juni, you in for one more adventure?"

Junaida shrugged. "Take my fee out of what I pay you as co-pilot."

"You don't actually pay me to be your co-pilot, you know," Risha reminded her. "Not yet, anyway."

"Call it even?"

"Sure," Risha said indifferently and turned to Drooga. "No problem, Drooga. I was planning on hitting the Outer Rim anyway. We'll have your male back in a month."

-Two weeks. What if this one dies in the time it takes you?-

"I've got appointments to keep, Drooga." She put her hands on her hips. "Look, do you want the last breeding pair of Shanjarus in the galaxy, or do you just want to own another set of pelts?"

Drooga seemed to find this very amusing for he laughed so hard that the rest of the court joined in as well. -Good Risha. And then you join my family.-

Risha didn't reply to that. She signaled to the Twi'lek and said something in a language Junaida didn't understand. The Twi'lek looked angry, but produced something from his pocket and handed it to Risha. The dark-eyed girl appeared to thank him, then showed Junaida that it was a credit stick.

"He owed me," she explained.

"You handle yourself well with Hutts," Junaida remarked.

Risha gave her a small crooked smile. "Drooga's practically an uncle. A giant, disgusting, putrid, lying, cheating uncle who'd as soon slap me in chains and sell me to his mouthpiece there to settle his debts as pay me for the work I do for him. You worked with Hutts before?"

"Not really," Junaida admitted. "Not at all."

Risha chuckled. "It's an acquired skill, but once you pick it up it's the easiest way to make creds in the business."

"Got it," Junaida replied. "Want to grab a few drinks while we wait for Corso to finish up his visit?"

"You really buy it that Corso's got an uncle here he's checking in on?" Risha asked.

Junaida shrugged. "He's a big boy. He can look after himself on Nar Shaddaa for a few hours. I don't need to know the details."

* * *

Corso usually liked killing droids. There was no mess, little fuss, and no moral qualms about putting down hunks of metal that were only programmed to make it look like they were sentient. Of course there were exceptions, such as when droids refused to die like the Super Defender Droid that clanked into the hallway between them and the processing chamber where they were sure Shannin was being held. Agent Temple, or Guran, had grown excited, breaking her silence to declare, "She's there!" only seconds before the droid had rolled in and turned the hall into a death trap of smoke and fire and exploding things. Corso took cover behind a stack of crates, pulling his goggles on and clenching his teeth down on his helmet's rebreather. He knew better than to assume the smoke as non-toxic. All smoke was toxic. First you'd slow down, get a little foggy eyed as your lungs worked twice as hard to get oxygen to your brain, then the next thing you knew you'd be emptying a round of fire into friendlies because you'd managed to get turned around somehow on the battlefield and kill one of your own. It had almost happened to Corso before. It had happened to a friend of his. That friend had later swallowed his gun. _Don't be an idiot. Use your gear._

Corso was pleased to see that Bowdaar had a re-breather on as well. The giant wookiee normally shunned armor and high-tech gear, but he wasn't an idiot, either. Bowdaar was a veteran.

-I can't see the captain,- Bowdaar growled.

"I can't see my own boots," Guran's croaking voice called back. Another round of cannon fire from the SDD pummeled them, keeping them pinned down. Corso was able to make out twin streams of orange fire from Guran's guns, but they washed harmlessly over the SDD's shield like rain.

-Cover me,- Bowdaar instructed, activating his personal stealth generator and disappearing into the smoke. Corso braced himself against one of the crates and sent a stream of super-charged blaster bolts at the droid. They shook the shield but didn't breach it. His fire was joined by the flash of Lithi's lightsaber as the Twi'lek Jedi deflected shots fired at her back towards the droid. Where was the captain?

Bowdaar uncloaked, suddenly next to the SDD. He slipped into its shield and raised his vibrosword—but was blown back viciously as the shield shrunk in then regenerated, moving outward like shock-wave. The droid moved to finish off the stunned wookiee. They all poured their fire into it. Corso leapt from cover.

"Hey, stupid!" he shouted, hoping to nab the droid's attention from Bowdaar.

He heard a hiss from behind, and then a familiar gravelly voice was giving orders. "Stay clear of my target," the bounty hunter, Kespar, ordered. He had his jet-pack on, tearing a path through the smoke to rise above the SDD, showering it with fire. Corso measured the distance between the droid and the friendly flesh targets around it. He wasn't sure if he had a shot.

"Kespar, catch!" he called, tossing a live grenade up to the bounty hunter. "It's hot!"

Kespar didn't hesitate before dropping the grenade onto the droid. It bounced off the thing's shield, hit the wall, then rolled to a halt on the ground. Even outside the droid's shield, the punch was enough to knock it back a few feet and put the shield out for a few seconds. During that time, Guran sprinted through the smoke, pulverizing the droid's unprotected chassis with bolts from both blasters. The SDD sparked, faltered, and then a shot from Corso's rifle through the brain-module finished it off.

Bowdaar roared, his voice higher than Corso had ever heard it. His heart leapt.

"Oh no," he heard Lithi gasp. Corso hurried through the smoke.

"Captain?"

Vondo was unconscious, his head a mess of blood and shrapnel. Corso couldn't even see where his left eye had been.

"Captain!"

Kespar was suddenly beside Corso, grasping him roughly by the shoulder and pulling him back. "He's alive. Finish the job."

Corso pushed the Chiss back with both hands. "The job?" he repeated. "Forget the job, he's _dying."_

Kespar gripped him by the neck with one powerful hand and steered him away from the scene. "And so is the wife," he reminded him. "Do. Your. Job. Mako's got medical training. She'll stay back with him while we go finish this. I'm in charge now."

"Excuse me?" Corso snapped. Bowdaar roared in agreement.

"You two are both too stupid right now to give orders," Kespar snapped. "Form up on me. That means you, too, Jedi."

Lithi was bent over Vondo, grasping his wrist feebly.

"No offense, lady, but I've got drugs that can do whatever your voodoo magic can," Mako told her. She was working quickly and efficiently to assess the damage and tidy the area up. "No brain damage. Yet. Go. The area's locked down. I'm not expecting drop-ins."

Kothe let go of Vondo's wrist and wiped his brow. "All right, Kespar."

Kespar's helmet bobbed in a nod, and he led the crew across the hall to the processing room where Shannin was being held. He glanced at a screen on his wrist, then punched in a code. The doors opened. The room was divided by ray shields into six sectors. In one of the sectors lay the crumpled form of Shannin Tormaris. In another stood a Cathar woman dressed in a gray military uniform, holding the ignited red lightsaber of a Sith warrior.


	19. Chapter 19: Injuries

**Chapter 19: Injuries**

For minutes, nobody moved. Corso was staring at Shannin's body in the far section, willing it to move. If it didn't move soon, he was all for turning around right there and cutting their losses. Just outside the room Vondo was lying there bleeding from a head wound. If he didn't get medical attention soon, he would die. Corso had no doubt of that.

Kespar seemed to be appraising the scene. Lithi had her eyes on the Sith. Guran shifted uneasily, twin blasters drawn.

Shannin stirred, curling forwards into a ball.

"You can disable the ray shields, but I'll finish her," the Sith told them. "The minute you lower them to kill me, I'll kill her first. Maybe I'll die, but so will she."

Kespar glanced at Bowdaar. The wookiee screamed out a cry of anger and challenge.

"It's your call," the Sith taunted.

Kespar was silent, nodding slowly as though talking on a secondary comm inside his helmet. Mako appeared suddenly.

"Corso, see to the Captain," she ordered briskly, and inspected the shield paneling. "I can deactivate them one at a time, but I don't know what the order is. We might release her first." She nodded to the Sith.

"Do it," Corso ordered, and ducked out of the room. Vondo was still unconscious. Corso didn't know if he'd ever come around. He'd seen injuries like this on Ord Mantell, and most of them ended in burials. Of course, this wasn't Ord Mantell. Nar Shaddaa had some of the best medical facilities in the galaxy, and while they were mostly used for cosmetic surgery and illegal implants, they could probably save Vondo's life.

If they got him to one of these facilities while there was still a life to save.

"Come on, Captain," Corso muttered. "Juni'll kill me if I come back with a corpse. Shannin will kill me, too. She's alive, Vi. I saw her move; she's still alive."

Back inside the torture chamber, Mako began to deactivate the cells. The first cell was in the far corner. The second cell was also at the far end. "Crap," Mako exclaimed. "Crap. I'll open her up to the Sith before I get us in. I can't change the order!"

Kespar laid a hand on her shoulder. "Deactivate the grid."

"She'll kill her," Guran growled.

"Then we better be very, very fast," Kespar told her. He activated his comm again. "Corso, I'm going to need you back in here. Mako's coming out."

"Copy," Corso's replied, voice weak.

"Ready?" They team raised their weapons, aiming at the Cathar Sith. "Go."

Mako typed in a long sequence of commands, and the ray shields went out. They all fired their weapons at once, but none of them hit Vecher. She deflected two bolts with her lightsaber, and the others pummelled the wall behind her as she Force-leapt through the air towards Shannin.

But Kespar bowled into her mid-air, propelled by the small jet-pack unit built into his armor. Corso expected to see the bounty hunter easily bisected, but instead the Chiss managed to avoid the lethal blade, pinning the woman's hand to the wall and knocking it to the ground. Someone snapped it up. Corso wasn't paying attention. He and Lithi had both reached Shannin.

"She's alive," Lithi breathed, her voice eerily calm. "She'll be fine. She's badly injured, but I think she's better off than he is."

Corso's stomach flipped. "I'll get her out of here," he said.

"I'll take care of the Sith," Lithi said, and Corso her roll her lightsaber in her wrist, carving a neon-green arc in the air as she squared off.

But the Sith had managed to shake Kespar, sending him careening into the wall. Lightning lanced from her fingertips, eliciting a cry of pain from the Chiss.

"Over here," Guran called. She had picked up the fallen Sith's lightsaber and was wielding it like a brawler wielded a hydrospanner in a bar fight. Lithi could sense the Force running strong through the disguised Imperial Agent, raw with fear and anger. She was no Sith, but she wasn't a Jedi and had never been trained to bear a lightsaber in combat.

"Well, aren't we a treasure," the Sith cooed. "Come on, girl, show me what you've got." She sent lighting coursing towards the woman, who blocked it with a lucky swipe of the lightsaber, but she couldn't hold it back for long. A tendril of electricity sneaked by the red blade, jolting the Agent into dropping her weapon and stumbling backwards, reaching for her blasters instinctively.

"Step aside, Guran," Lithi instructed. "It's my duty as Jedi to face this monster. Take Shannin."

Guran gasped for breath.

"Go, Guran," Corso repeated. He knew what happened to Imperial Agents who killed Sith. Gannifari that bit the hand of their masters were put down, or brainwashed like Shannin had been.

Raina Temple, hidden behind her disguise as Guran the gun-for-hire, seemed to understand. "I'll make sure mummy and daddy get home okay," she promised, the words sounding odd through her voice-distorter. Corso had only met her once before, and he tried to imagine the words in her bird-like lilt, and smiled. Shannin was just barely conscious, but when Guran hauled her to her feet she was able to support herself a little bit. A line of blood ran from her mouth, pooling on the floor. There was a lot of old blood on the floor of this room; old and new.

Kespar was on his feet again. Lithi brandished her lightsaber. Corso collected and pocketed the Sith's fallen weapon to prevent her from summoning it again. Bowdar flexed his massive shoulders.

"Four on one?" the Sith remarked. "That's hardly fair."

"Fair don't come into it," Corso told her, raising his rifle. "Prepare to be as dead as you are ugly, Sith."

Lightning exploded from the Cathar's fingers.

* * *

"What makes this Flameout drink three times more expensive than everything else on the menu?" Junaida asked, shifting restlessly on the semi-padded bar stool in a small cantina Risha said had the best balance between entertainment and lethality in its clientele.

"Spice," Risha replied, beckoning to a server-droid.

Junaida made a face. "Is that legal."

Risha laughed. "Honey, this is Nar Shaddaa. That question doesn't even come close to applying. Have you ever done spice?"

"Sometimes," Junaida admitted. "But it wasn't my style. I don't need that crap to do half the shit my classmates did when on it."

"Such as?"

"Petty theft, swoop-bike racing, glide-diving, breaking into school facilities," she counted each activity off on her fingers. "I prefer to stick to good old fashioned alcohol in order to better make poor decisions considering my romantic life."

Risha laughed. "Sure, blame it on the juri juice."

"Juri juice?" Junaida repeated. "What, am I fifteen? A tihaar, please," she said to the droid.

"Lum," Risha ordered. "Tihaar, huh? You didn't happen to watch a lot of Onn Keric holos when you were younger, did you?"

"When I was younger, yeah," Junaida drawled with a wink. "Only everything. I may or may not have tried to teach myself Mando'a because of him."

Risha laughed again. "_Blood and Tihaar_ was my favourite," she admitted. "I think I had a copy of the holo on every device I've ever owned."

"So is that what you've been doing in my cargo bay while Corso fleeces me for credits at the sabbacc table," Junaida teased. "You should have invited me, we could have had this conversation sooner."

Risha smiled. "I'm sorry I've been so antisocial," she said quickly and dismissively. "I believe in staying focused on your work, but I don't mean to come off as cold."

Junaida shrugged. "I get it. You're in the business alone. That's got to make you a little leery."

Risha nodded.

"I lasted two days on my own before ending up in prison on Ord Mantell and needed Corso to come bust me out."

Risha arched an eyebrow. "So what _is_ there between you and Corso? I thought maybe there was something going on with you two. You two seem very close."

Junaida's stomach churned. Their drinks arrived and she tossed back the tiny glass of tihaar before asking the droid for another. The liquor warmed her throat and stomach but did nothing to stop her from feeling like her lungs had stopped being able to hold air. But then the feeling passed. She shrugged. "Corso's my big brother. Used to babysit me, actually." She didn't have to say the words out loud to know that this wasn't how she really felt about Corso. She hadn't slept well since Taris, when she thought she'd let him get killed. It occurred to her at some point during the dinner with Vector and Agent Temple that Corso was a Good Man, not just a good man. And that he was handsome. Even if he had thrown up in her ship after that dinner. But this was a conclusion that Junaida still wasn't willing to admit she'd even come to, let alone tell Risha about. Not even after the second tihaar. It wasn't even particularly good tihaar.

"You know on Mandalore they have bottles of tihaar with the fruit in the bottom," Junaida'd said instead. "They grow the fruit inside the bottle, hanging on the trees like that. Isn't that neat?"

Risha nodded, accepting the new conversation topic. "Have you ever been? To Mandalore?"

"No," Junaida replied, straightening up in her seat and trying not to hunch. "I don't think I want to, either. Onn Keric aside."

"You know he's Corellian, right?" Risha asked. "I'm still kind of devastated about that."

"Me, too," Junaida laughed. "I mean, of course he was. They were just holos, and he was just an actor, but it was fun to pretend that there were men like that out there."

"Oh the things we pretend when it comes to men," Risha mourned and then laughed. "Now, I've been to Mandalore, but let me tell you, it's a piece of poodoo, as they say on Tattooine. Now, Tattooine on the other hand; _that_'s a place I wouldn't mind spending some time."

"Tattooine?" Junaida repeated. "Ball of sand?"

"On the surface," Risha agreed, taking a sip of her lum. "But once you get to know your way around, the place is a real treasure trove of unexpected beauty, delightful scum, and of course profit."

"I'm glad then that it's on our itinerary," Junaida told her. The tihaar was going to her head. She felt relaxed. Risha wasn't that annoying anymore. She felt bad for having thought mean thoughts about her before. She wasn't an academy girl, after all. She was the best kind of scum in the galaxy.

Risha was just about to tell what Junaida was sure would be a very interesting story when Junaida's comlink flashed. She motioned to Risha and took the call on her implant-comm.

"Junaida?" a strange female voice called. "Junaida Tormaris?"

"Yeah, that's me. What do you want?" she asked irritably.

The comm crackled. "I'm sending you our coordinates. We're at the hospital. I can't—I can't talk." She cut out.

Risha watched her questioningly.

Junaida tossed a couple of credit chips down on the bar. "We're going," she announced.

"Where?"

"Hospital."

* * *

The medical facility off the Promenade was staffed almost exclusively by droids. Every here and there Junaida could see an organic—mostly Ithorians—in long white robes hurrying to and fro. The droids had been programmed not to give out information, but organics were easier to appeal to. Junaida caught one of the Ithorians, spinning the snail-like creature around to face her. Its giant eyes blinked and it looked indignant.

"Young lady, hands off!" it grunted in a low voice that Junaida thought meant it was female.

"Please," she gasped. They had sprinted from the taxi. Risha trailed behind her, pale in the harsh lights of the facility. "My friend, he's a patient here."

"Ask the droid," the Ithorian said dismissively.

"It says I'm not next of kin and can't find him," Junaida implored. "But someone called me here. He wants to see me. I have to see him."

The Ithorian looked moved, or perhaps merely tired, but it sidled behind the reception desk. "Your name?"

"Junaida Tormaris," she said, handing over her ID. "His name is Corso Riggs."

The Ithorian scanned it and made a face. "Junaida Tormaris," it repeated. "There is no Corso Riggs listed as a patient here, but you may visit your father in recovery room 314-c."

"My father?" Junaida repeated, heart pounding. "My father's here?"

"Your mother is currently in surgery and you won't be able to see her, but your father's just come out and is currently conscious. You may visit him if you like."

"Three fourteen see?" Junaida repeated.

The Ithorian nodded.

"Thank you!" Junaida called, marching away from the desk. There were lifts across the hall. She pressed the button frantically, but lifts never hurried. "Did you know my parents were here?" she asked.

Risha shook her head.

Junaida wanted to punch the wall, but the hall was crowded with droids and doctors, so she checked the mixture of fear and frustration that was coursing through her. They stepped into the lift and selected the third level of the hospital, and Junaida tried hard to school her breathing. Her parents were on Nar Shaddaa. They were injured. Injured enough to need surgery and a professional med-center. Junaida was terrified. Risha kept her distance, and Junaida was grateful for it. Some people would try to hug her or make her talk but Risha left her alone. Junaida liked Risha.

If Corso wasn't a patient, did that mean he was dead? What had they gotten into?

Recovery room 314 was an enormous sterile cave of tinted-transparisteel compartments, where where the sick and the injured lay. It was easy to find her father's compartment, for there was a small group of battle-worn characters hanging around in front of it. There was a Chiss in heavy armor having something injected into the back of his neck by a small cyborg girl who most certainly wasn't a doctor, from her black bodysuit and soot-streaked face. A strange individual with a silver helmet sat in a chair opposite them, looking more droid than organic in light, reflective armor. And then there was Corso, cradling his helmet under one arm as he stood in the doorway to the compartment, staring inside with a grim expression. A droid passed him on the way out carrying a waste box with a big bio-hazard stamp on it. He glanced up and saw Junaida.

Before she could push through the door to her father Corso seized her by her shoulders and steered her out of the way.

"Juni, before you go in there—Juni!" Corso shouted, digging his fingers into her shoulder. Junaida's eyes were on the door. She'd caught a glimpse of a bandaged shape that couldn't possibly be her father. Her father was indestructible.

Junaida glanced up at Corso. His face was soot-streaked, his lips purple and his eyes red. He looked like someone who needed medical attention, but the droids had said he wasn't a patient. That meant he was fine, which mean it was her father who needed her attention. "What?" she asked.

"He's been badly injured."

"I figured that much!" Junaida yelled.

"Juni!" Corso snapped back, shaking her. "He's been badly injured but he's going to be fine. It looks worse than it is."

Junaida's heard pounded. "Dad," she croaked.

Corso squeezed her shoulders again, this time trying to comfort her. "He took a piece of shrapnel to the head. He met a Super Battle Droid in Shadow Town. He's lost the eye." Her eyes had begun to glaze over with tears. Corso shook her. "He's going to be okay," he assured her. "This is Nar Shaddaa, remember? He's already got a new eye. It's cybernetic but it looks real."

"He's going to look like me," the little woman tending to the Chiss cut in, tapping the side of her face where her cybernetic implant showed. "Only around the eye."

Junaida glanced at the ground. "He's fine?"

"Yes," Corso promised her and brushed her hair out of her face. He pulled her into a hug that crushed her painfully against his armor, then let her go and pushed her through the door to her father's compartment.

It did look bad. There were white bandages all around Vondo's head. His head had been shaved, and his entire face was purple and red with blood and burns. A machine over his slightly inclined bed misted him with Kolto. Junaida reached for her father's hand and squeezed it.

"Ow," he said and smiled, then gasped through his teeth. "Ow. No smiling. Don't make me laugh, Juni."

Junaida started crying, and now it was Vondo squeezing his daughter's hand. "There, there, Juni. Enough. I'm fine."

"At first I thought it was Corso, and now it's you. I didn't even know you were on planet. What _happened."_

Vondo swallowed audibly. The cybernetic implant ran a ring half way around his eye. She couldn't see the socket because it was bandaged, but the metal around was shiny and new and glimmered in the dimmed lights of the recovery room. "Mom got into trouble," he told her.

Junaida frowned. "The doctor said she's in surgery. What happened?"

Vondo swallowed again. "Your mother killed a Sith once, and that Sith had an apprentice. The apprentice found her and tried to hurt her. _Did_ hurt her. For three days. We came as fast as we could, but she's in bad shape. Last I heard they weren't sure she'd make it. She's in surgery?"

"Yes," Junaida confirmed. "At least that's what the doctor told me."

"Droid or organic?" Vondo asked.

"Ithorian," Junaida assured him.

Vondo laughed, cringing again. "Don't trust a robot, am I right?"

"Dad," Junaida whined. "Don't joke!"

Vondo seemed pleased with himself. He lifted a hand to tug on Juni's ear. "Tell Kespar to see a medic."

"Kespar?"

"The Chiss," Vondo explained. "That man took one hell of a blast of Sith lighting."

"I'm seeing to him," Mako shouted from the hallway. "He'll live."

"And Lithi? How's our Jedi? I don't see her milling about in my hallway. Now _that's_ a woman that doesn't get knocked down easy."

"She's dead," Corso reported unemotionally from the doorway.

"Oh," Vondo said, falling silent. "Well, it's not like the Order was very fond of me to begin with."

"The other one's Temple," Vondo whispered. "But you didn't hear that from me. Nobody can know she helped us."

A droid entered the room, scrolling through a datapad. First it ran a scanner over Vondo's new implant, then announced cheerily, "Your wife has just left surgery. She's in stable condition, but still unconscious. Recovery room 398."

"Go see her," Vondo told Juni.

"Dad, you're hurt, too," Junaida protested.

"Go see your mom," he insisted. "I've got a whole band of well-wishers here to keep me company, and I know your mom would want to wake up to a familiar face."

"But dad—"

"Don't argue," Vondo snapped authoritatively. "You don't know how many times that woman has pulled my backside out of the fire and stood by my bedside while they swapped my blood out for kolto and I'll be damned the one time she needs me to I'm not there when she wakes up." He paused and took a deep breath. "But I can't be, so it's got to be you, Juni. I know you think you have your differences, and I know you think you've got reasons to be mad at her, but I'm telling you to drop them now. You can't claim to love me and turn your back on your mother. That's not what family does."

Junaida's throat closed and she wanted to cry, throw a temper tantrum, or just pull some blankets over her head and wake up from what she was sure was a nightmare, but she _was_ being sullen and she did want her mother to be okay. Her dad _had_ to know that, surely? Junaida merely nodded and went to leave.

"I'll come, too," the faceless warrior that was Agent Temple volunteered.

"No," Vondo cut in. "You need to leave. If you follow in Shannin's footsteps any closer you'll end up right beside her in a hospital bed. Leave. Don't come back. Guran," he added quickly. "I'll wire you your payment."

Agent Temple nodded slowly and then turned to leave. For a few minutes they walked together in silence before they reached the lifts and Junaida turned to continue down the catacombs in hopes of finding the recovery room where her mother waited. Agent Temple caught Junaida's arm.

"Don't hold it against her," she said in her strange, distorted voice. "She sacrificed everything for you."

"She abandoned me," Junaida countered sullenly. "But nobody deserves to wake up alone in the hospital."

Temple let her go and stepped into the lifts. Junaida released a deep, steadying breath and headed down the hall. When she found her mother she was disappointed. She didn't look injured, but lay serenely in bed, thin hands folded over her stomach. There were more machines hooked up to her, though. There was a kolto drip and nodes on her temples and a tube down her throat that likely meant she wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.

Junaida felt instantly guilty. Instinctively she knew that her mother had done everything she could to be there for her children, but she didn't _feel_ that way. She couldn't remember her mother doing anything particularly horrible to her as a child, but she'd always felt wary. When she had learned that her mother hadn't been around very often when she was little, these feelings seemed to be vindicated. She knew that it was hard to leave Intelligence, harder still to leave Intelligence in the Sith Empire. She knew her mother's life had been in danger, and she knew that her father who she adored and trusted was completely devoted to this woman, but that didn't change her certainty that this was a woman who _left_. She had done it before, she would do it again. The moment Junaida got used to having her around again, she'd disappear. It didn't matter that her father had disappeared on business a lot, too. Juni had ridden along with him before. She knew what he did and when he was away she could imagine the seat-of-the-pants adventures he and Bowdaar were surely having.

Shannin had never shared stories about where she traveled to. Sometimes she brought back presents, but Junaida had always coldly rejected them. Neither of Juni's siblings had treated their mother with such distrust, but then again they hadn't had to live with her being away as long as Juni had. Her mother had formally left service when Alsi was born, so the littlest sister had never known a time when mama wasn't there to play with her. Maraik had never seemed to mind, either, though he too had been handed over to their father when he was just a baby. He'd always been confident that his parents loved him very much. Junaida often teased him about being stupid, but perhaps he was simply trusting. Juni wasn't sure. She didn't really care.

For now she pulled up a chair beside her mother's bed and stared at the machines. She didn't understand the readings, but there were a lot of readings to understand. She scrolled through the datascreen built in to Shannin's bed, poring over the list of injuries she'd been admitted with. Cranial bleeding. Internal hemorrhaging. Liver and kidney damaged. Burst spleen. Second degree burns. On the inside. Junaida felt sick. She felt guilty and sick. She kicked off her boots and pulled her knees up to her chin in the round-backed chair beside her mother's bed and waited.

* * *

Summer on Dromund Kaas had always been dry. Heavy rain fell throughout the rest of the year, but when the summer came the jungle stiffened and cried out for water, and the grass that grew on the rocky knolls above the Tormaris estate turned yellow. A chime rang throughout the house and set Shannin's heart pounding. There was someone at the gates, a speeder approaching. They had validation. They drove right in. This wasn't right. She needed more time. Shannin wasn't supposed to be here. She hurried to her room and grabbed her bag. She always kept one packed, a habit Intelligence ingrained in you if not by dogma then because more often than not when you left a place it was at a moment's notice. You always had to be ready. From the other room Shannin heard the sound of a little bell jingling and a soft voice whispering to the baby. And then the door buzzed.

"Shannin?" her father called. He was a big man who would have been a farmer on another planet, but on this one he had Evocii to do his farming and he only had to read over numbers and decide whether or not to improve the slave-quarters during good years, and whether to take reprisals on the bad ones. Mr. Tormaris never punished his slaves.

"I can get it," Shannin replied, hands shaking, stomach queasy. She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be long gone by now. She wasn't supposed to have to do this. Her parents knew best to stay out of her way when she was on edge like this. She'd been a violent teenager in the way teenage girls often were. She'd shouted, she'd thrown things, but she wasn't a teenager anymore, if only barely, and she was in a lot—a lot—of trouble. She opened the door.

And there he stood, pale and angry like he had every right to be. He looked tired. She was terrified of him. He stepped past her and into the house like he was going to walk right past her and go straight for the baby, but he turned on his heel, took Shannin's shoulders in his hands, and held her still.

"This is how you tell me, huh? Come quick, we had a baby and I need you to take it away. How could you—"

Shannin had begun to cry. She'd had a friend when she was little that had boasted that she hadn't cried since she was five. Shannin wasn't like that. Shannin cried frequently, out of anger, out of frustration, out of loneliness and pain. Not where anyone could see her, so it didn't matter, but she cried. But not like this. Her entire being caved in, and she leaned against Vondo's arms that sought to hold her back, and let him support her while she cried. He let go of her shoulders and pulled her close. She wasn't sure how long it took, but she hoped it was quickly, she gathered her wits and dried her eyes on the cuff of her shirtsleeve. Vondo brushed her hair out of her face and kissed her cheek and held her tight and murmured something that she didn't hear but knew made everything okay.

It was still there; their special connection. She hadn't ruined it—not yet.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him back. "I didn't want it to be like this. I wanted to tell you, but every time I called you it just seemed like the wrong time. And Kaylio said I shouldn't tell you. She said you wouldn't care. She said lots of stupid women had babies and their men didn't want to be bothered with that sort of thing." Shannin and Vondo stepped apart, relaxed, tender, no longer desperate.

Vondo managed one of his teasing, roguish smiles. "Haven't you learned never to listen to Kaylio?"

Shannin smiled back and nodded. "I suppose I'm proving to be a slow learner."

"The baby, where is it? She?" Vondo asked.

Shannin nodded and led him to the nursery. Shannin's parents stood at the back of the room, out of the way but keeping a watchful eye on the baby, who seemed more than a little put out that nobody was playing with her anymore. If she realized that her father was now in the room, she showed no sign of it. No matter what anyone said, babies weren't telepathic, of that Shannin was sure.

"I called her Junaida, I hope you don't mind."

Vondo was speechless. He approached the crib tentatively, ignoring the shiny mobile overhead to peer down at the little larva of a human that was his daughter. She was small and chubby and had a tuft of black hair. Oh yes, she was his. "It's a nice name," he said absently, staring down at the creature, wondering… "Can I pick her up?"

"Of course," Shannin and her mother both chimed in.

"Just make sure to support the head," Shannin's mother added.

Vondo shot the woman a smile and reached in, trying to do as he was told. The baby didn't seem to mind that a stranger was picking it up. It squirmed, but not aggressively.

"I think I stole the name from a Mandalorian warrior I once killed," Shannin chimed in morbidly. "I think I've spelled or said it wrong, but she was a fierce woman, and it was a beautiful name."

The baby spat a little something up. Vondo stared. "How old is she?"

"Six months," Shannin explained. "I know I shouldn't have waited but I—"

"Shannin, I understand," Vondo cut in. He cradled the baby in his arms and turned to Shannin. "I'm sorry it's been so long since we've seen one another. I should have married you when I had the chance, shouldn't I?"

Shannin bit back a tear. "It doesn't matter, does it?"

Vondo frowned at her, then stared back at the baby. "So you want me to take her?"

"We'd keep her," Shannin's mother chimed in. "We'd love to keep her, but Shannin says it's too dangerous."

Shannin nodded briskly, still fighting back tears. God, she felt unhinged. "I've done something, Vi. Something that's going to get me into big trouble with my employers. Killing Sith doesn't go over well, and we all know they're the kind to take reprisals. My parents aren't military; they can't defend her. Nobody knows I'm here, and for all I know Intelligence thinks I'm estranged from my parents, but if word gets out that Mr. And Mrs. Tormaris had a brand new baby, I need her to be somewhere else. I've already tasked Watcher with keeping an eye on my parents, and don't leave all your eggs in one basket they say."

"Shannin," Vondo murmured. "Calm down."

Shannin took a deep breath.

"She'll be safe with me," he promised. "We'll set up a nursery on the ship, get a nanny droid. Bowdaar loves children."

"The ship?" Shannin's mother cut in. "Shannin, leave her here for the Emperor's sake!"

Shannin shook her head. "Only if you're doing dangerous work, bring her back here. Only if you can't keep her safe with you. I'd rather she were with you."

Vondo nodded, and returned baby Junaida to her crib and turned to inspect Shannin. She looked scared. He'd never seen her so scared before. She was infallible, always had been. Nothing gave her pause. What was she into? "Where's Kaylio?"

"Medical center," Shannin explained. Vondo looked a little taken aback. "I told you it was serious. She and I just killed a Sith Lord. I have to go pick her up and get her out of there before someone decides to re-program a med-droid and make sure she doesn't get up again. She saved my life."

"Where are you going?" Vondo asked.

"Nar Shaddaa," she replied. "For work. They're letting us continue like nothing happened, only I _know_ there'll be retributions. This is the Sith we're talking about."

Vondo took Shannin in his arms again and held her tight. It was a feeble gesture, he felt, but it was all he could do for her. He couldn't help her. She was the enemy—or she was supposed to be. Her job was weakening the Republic, and he'd long since thrown his lot in with them. He could only offer her this. "It'll be alright," he whispered. "You know Nar Shaddaa like the back of your hand. Nar Shaddaa's our place."

Shannin smiled, lifting her head from Vondo's shoulder to kiss him softly on the mouth. "You're too good for me," she said.

"I'm trash and you know it, don't tease," Vondo drawled. "I'll keep her safe, I promise," he said. "You just work on keeping _yourself_ safe. Look out for number one, got it? No heroics."

"This is the first time I've ever done something heroic," Shannin mumbled. "Killing the Sith, I mean. I'll pay the price for it, I know it."

"Leave it to me," Vondo said with a glance at his chrono. "I'm an expert at not paying the price for things." He glanced back in the crib. What a lovely little larva he'd made. "I take it I can't just throw her in the back of the speeder?" he said, glancing up to Shannin's parents.

Mrs. Tormaris began to cry, while Mr. Tormaris patted her shoulder. "We'll help you get set up with the things you'll need."

"I have to go," Shannin declared. "I should have left earlier, but I had to see you, and say goodbye to her." She hovered at the edge of the crib for a moment as though she might pick the baby up, but she stepped away. "This'll be easiest if I hurry," she said.

"Go," Vondo instructed. "Kaylio needs you. I'll take care of the rest."

Shannin nodded and grabbed her bag from the entranceway. "I'll see you when the storm clears," she called.

Vondo watched her open the front door and gave her lazy salute, a terribly unfitting goodbye for the mother of his child, but he was at a loss. Shannin smiled and saluted him back, then disappeared out the door.

* * *

They'd always met on Nar Shaddaa. The Smuggler's Moon, it was called. When Shannin had business to take care of with the Hutts to ensure they stayed firmly in the Empire's pocket, she always stopped by on Nar Shaddaa, just in case he was there. Vondo found himself making sure he was, taking low-paying jobs just to ensure that he'd be there when she next called. At first they'd just been friends. They'd sit for drinks in different cantinas and talk about things that didn't include the death they both regularly dealt for a living, until one day they ended up back aboard Vondo's ship.

The smuggler lay on his stomach, covers pulled up to his shoulders as he watched Shannin slip back into the gray bodysuit she wore under her leatheris tunic, strapping her knife back to her leg before before unbraiding and brushing out her tousled brown hair, before twisting it into a knot at the back of her head again and casting about for her wrist-guards.

"You really _are_ an Imperial, aren't you?" he'd asked her. He already knew the answer to that question. She'd unwillingly answered it the first time they met.

She'd paused, adjusting one wrist-guard and peering at the built-in chrono. "Yes," she replied simply this time. She'd stopped dodging questions from Vondo at some point during their time spent chatting on Nar Shaddaa. There was no point in lying to him, but admitting who she worked for still felt like a misstep. Even if it was to a lover. Maybe _especially_ because of that. "You lean the other way ideologically, don't you?"

Vondo nodded, sitting up on his elbows. "Does it bother you?"

Shannin shrugged. "Not particularly. Does it bother you?"

He stared at her, smiling a little, but didn't say anything.

"Does it bother you that I work for you enemy, and I could slit your throat right now and there's nothing you could do about it?" She patted the knife strapped to her thigh.

"How do you know I don't sleep with a blaster under my pillow?" Vondo asked her, still looking more amused than frightened.

"Because I know," Shannin had teased and kissed him.

"I trust you," he had told her softly, running a thumb over her lower lip. "Do you trust me?"

Shannin had hesitated, but not because she didn't know her answer. "Implicitly," she replied.

Vondo had smiled. "Then we're both in a lot of trouble, aren't we?"

Shannin got to her feet and smiled back. "I'll be back on Nar Shaddaa in a couple of months. Do you want to meet up?"

"Do you have to ask?" Vondo called. "Now get out of here before my brain catches up with us."

She blew him a kiss from the doorway and then stepped out.

* * *

When Shannin saw her daughter again after giving her up it was on Nar Shaddaa, and it occurred to Shannin that she'd been apart from her daughter longer than the baby had been alive. Shannin barely recognized the tiny person playing with an akk-plushie in a grav-shielded playpen that took up the majority of Vondo's small ship's common room.

"In case the ship's grav control systems go out," he explained to her. He had her hand tight in his as he led her towards the baby. "It'll stand vacuum."

"Vondo, don't tell me you've had to test that," Shannin asked.

"No, no," he assured her. "But I've taken precautions. I promise."

"Does she walk? Talk? Has she applied to any academies yet?" Shannin asked, laughing nervously. "Does she remember me?"

Vondo was silent. He deactivated the field around the pen and reached in and hauled Junaida out. She was heavy with a mop of straight black hair that someone had tied with a ribbon on top. "Bowdaar, if you believe it," he explained. "I got a nanny droid, too."

Shannin laughed and reached out to touch her daughter's hand. Junaida looked wary. "Oh god, Vondo. She doesn't remember me."

"That's mama," Vondo explained to the toddler. "Mama had to go away, but she's back now." He glanced to Shannin. "Are you back?"

Shannin chewed her lip. "For the moment I'm dead. Until my enemies and my Watcher find out that I'm not, I think it's best if I lay low. Kaylio's doing the same. We parted ways earlier today. A month at most."

"Then stay with me," Vondo pleaded. "Reconnect with your daughter. A month is a long time in her life."

Shannin stared and finally reached out to take her. Junaida held on to her father's hand for as long as she could, then turned to survey the person who had taken hold of her. Perhaps she recognized her, perhaps she didn't. She started to cry, and then Shannin started to cry. Shannin set Juni back down in the grav-pen and took a seat, burying her face in her hands. When she took them away her face was dry, but she looked heartbroken.

"I'm the worst mother in the galaxy, aren't I?" she asked.

Vondo grinned. "Better than mine. I think. I never knew my mother, so you're ten steps ahead of her."

Shannin barked a laugh. "Oh, do go on."

Vondo took her hand again and kissed her. "If you're not staying for her, stay for me."

"I need to get out, Vondo. I don't want to do the Sith's dirty work anymore."

"I know."

"I will get out," she promised him. "I'll get out and I'll find you. We could get married."

"I'd like that," Vondo told her.

"We could get a house somewhere. On Alderaan."

"We could get Juni an akk," Vondo suggested.

Shannin had laughed. "I've always wanted an akk. It's decided then."

"Decided," Vondo agreed. "Stay here for now, then do what you have to do. Take your leave of the Empire, and I'll make sure we have a tidy fortune to retire on."

"And I'll start researching akk dog breeds," Shannin agreed. "Vondo," she said more seriously. "You know that no matter how many times we're separated, I'll always find you again."

"I know," Vondo replied lightly. "It's decided, remember?"


	20. Chapter 20: Parting

**Chapter 20: Parting**

When Shannin woke up in the hospital on Nar Shaddaa, Junaida was asleep. She'd cut her hair short since the last time she'd seen her and appeared to have aged another handful of years. Someone had thrown a blanket over her, and her head was resting on the back of the chair at an angle that would certainly hurt when she woke up. But Shannin didn't want to wake her up just yet. She just watched her sleep the same way she had when Juni was a baby. Except this time Shannin noticed that her baby had slung a dual blaster holster over the back of her chair. She reached out to touch Juni's hair, but was too far away. Something inside of her pained her, and she watched the readings on a machine waver, and the kolto drip increased. There must have been a painkiller in the kolto as well, because the pain vanished as well. She felt light like she was drunk. Her body was too broken for her to feel it safely right now. The painkillers were protecting her from knowing what had happened to her. But Shannin remembered.

A med-droid entered the room on silent repulsors, flipping through Shannin's files and then administering something to her drip. Her feeding tube had been removed already.

"Good evening, Mrs. Tormaris," it said in a soothing female voice. "And Ms. Tormaris."

Junaida sat up and rubbed at her eyes. "How long has it been?" she asked, glancing from the droid her her mother.

"Three hours since your arrival today. Two days since your admission, Mrs. Tormaris."

"What are you doing here?" Shannin asked her daughter once Junaida appeared to have taken her bearings, her voice catching, her mouth dry. She coughed.

"Just checking on you," Junaida replied defensively, sitting up straight and arranging the blanket over her legs.

"I meant on Nar Shaddaa. We are still on Nar Shaddaa, aren't we?"

"Yeah," Junaida assured her. "I was here for business, then Mako called me to say you guys were in hospital."

"Mako?" Shannin asked.

Junaida shrugged. "Slicer."

"Who else is in hospital, is your father—"

"Fine," Junaida assured her, but hesitated before going on. "He lost an eye. He's got a nasty cybernetic one now, and some plating. It's not as bad as it used to be. They're letting him go later today."

Shannin's stomach lurched, sending jolts of pain throughout her abdomen. The machines readjusted her painkiller dose again, and she felt herself grow even more lightheaded. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have gone digging in Shadow Town."

"Digging?" Junaida asked.

Shannin read her expression. There was concern there, but still that standoffish air that she'd had ever since she was a teenager. "Digging for, answers," Shannin replied elusively. "An old illness cropped up again, and I thought the answer might be here, but it was a trap. I haven't even experienced any symptoms since leaving Coruscant."

"You're ill?"

Shannin grimaced. The painkillers wanted her to fall asleep now, but then Juni would go away, and Shannin wanted Juni to stay. She reached out and took her daughter's hand. Now was not the time for explanations or excuses. "Not anymore," she said instead. Junaida's comm rang, but she flicked it to silent and ignored it. The med-droid shot her what was probably supposed to be a dirty look.

"I'm glad you woke up today," Junaida said gently. "That's probably Risha calling to say we have to go. We've got to get to Tattooine pretty quickly. We're picking up a Shanjaru. Picking up or stealing."

Shannin smiled. "Your father must be proud."

Junaida smirked. "Yeah, real proud," she drawled airily. "I wanted to say hi and bye. And I love you."

"I love you too Juni, you know that."

Junaida hesitated. "Of course I know that, don't be so grim," she teased, but her heart wasn't in it. She squeezed her mother's hand. "Get better then get back to retirement," she instructed playfully. "Leave the dirty work to us young ones."

Shannin smiled. "Be careful, Juni. And holo home whenever you get the chance."

"I promise," Junaida said. "Next time be home when I come to visit."

Shannin's heart ached. "I'll make sure of it. And I can come visit you, too, you know? Or are you afraid I'll embarrass you in front of your friends?" She laughed and tasted iron. She pressed the tip of her finger to her lips and it came away pink.

Junaida frowned and looked distressed. "Of course I'm not afraid of that," she assured her. Shannin hoped she hadn't seen the blood. She breathed as shallowly as possible, willing whatever was happening to her lungs to wait until Junaida was finished saying whatever it was she still had left to say. Shannin could tell that there was something more. Junaida frowned. "I met Vector Hyllus," she said finally. "And Agent Temple."

"I know," Shannin said, coughing a little. She'd been on Taris, Vector had mentioned that Junaida had been there.

"They're very devoted to you."

Shannin grimaced. She could only imagine what Junaida was feeling, had felt, how much she had guessed, how much had been explained to her. Shannin tried to think of something appropriate to say, but was at a loss for words. This was her grown-up daughter before her, wanting but not asking for a grown-up answer. "They were my family when I was away from you," she said finally, and knew that had been the wrong response. Junaida looked amused, like she always did when she was angry. Shannin opened her mouth to explain, but more fluid came up instead, and this time she couldn't hold back the coughing.

"Step aside, please, Ms. Tormaris," the droid instructed her, scanner raised. It passed patiently over Shannin's torso. "Ah, as I thought, some plasma is leaking into your lungs. We'll summon you as soon as she's well again," it told Junaida.

"Mom, holo when you can," Junaida asked. "Let me know when they discharge you. I'll send dad along."

"No visitors while we remove the fluid," the droid said with its vapid tone. "We'll summon you as soon as she's well again." The droid moved to usher Junaida out. Junaida grabbed her holster off the back of her chair and let herself be removed. The door slid shut behind her, and the transparisteel walls grew opaque. She glanced at her wrist comm. Corso had called her.

"Is it pre-flight check time?" she asked him, returning his call.

"Just about," he replied.

"On my way."

* * *

Vondo lay back in his bed, the drip feeding painkillers to the damaged flesh his prosthetic clung to. It was quiet. Through the transparisteel door he could see the empty hallway. His team of assassins was gone their separate ways now. Only Corso was left, sitting in the round padded chair in the corner of his room.

"So, how does Junaida measure up, compared to that lot?" he asked.

Corso fixed him with a weary stare. It was a rare one, but Vondo knew it well. Corso was not amused. He knew what he was being asked, and he wasn't sure how he should answer. How did the daughter of his oldest living friend measure up to a handful of scofflaws, assassins, and bounty-hunters?

"She can hold her own."

"If she's anything like her mother, she'll need someone to tell her where to stop. I'm glad you're with her."

Corso bristled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "And you didn't?"

"I had you."

"And when I wasn't around? Did Bowdaar ever tell you no?"

"Corso, I'm trying to say thank you for keeping Juni safe"

"She can keep herself safe, Vondo. What you want is for me to keep her clean."

Vondo felt cold. "What are you talking about, kid?"

"You know what I'm talking about. And I'm not a kid anymore," Corso reminded him. "_She_ is, and she idolizes you, thinks you can do no wrong. I'm not going to be the one to tell her how you put knives in some backs of your own. Because then I'd have to explain how it was wrong first, and that's not my job." Corso's voice was angry, but his shoulders were slumped as though in defeat or exhaustion, like someone carrying a heavy burden. He looked like he had something important and probably unpleasant to say.

"Go on, then," Vondo instructed briskly. "If you've got a judgment you want to share, share it."

Corso took a deep breath. "I know why you never said anything about Vector following Shannin around. He kept her clean for you, didn't he? Even if they _were_ sleeping together for what, a year?"

"And a half," Vondo corrected.

"He kept her from doing anything so nasty you wouldn't be able to deal with it. He was her moral navigator when the job didn't have one, and now you want me to do the same for Juni? It's always gotta be someone else keeping your girls clean for you Cap. And what about you? Your hands are as dirty as the scumbags you pulled together to get Shannin back." Corso nodded to the door.

"I drew a line," Vondo argued, fists balled on the covers at his sides. "Don't tell me I broke all the rules, that I left nothing behind but bodies, because you were with me here, on this same damn planet when we shut down the Bleeder operations without firing a shot. And what about Taris?"

"All for the money," spat Corso dismissively.

"We didn't make a credit on Taris," Vondo countered.

"Yeah, but _you_ made friends."

Vondo flushed. "I slipped."

"Slipped is the word, all right," Corso said and laughed darkly. "If you can call it slipping when it's every day, every time. You're just lucky Beryl didn't bring it up when we were on Taris. You know how she likes to chat about her conquests."

"I did what I had to do to protect the ones I love," Vondo said, but it sounded like he was repeating some sort of mantra he didn't quite believe in.

"And I'm not doing a thing more out of love. Not for you, not for Juni. It's a bad path. I'm getting out now while I still can."

"And what do you call what makes you keep on running back to Ord Mantell?" Vondo shot back. "What's that out of? Non-partisan benevolence?"

"A man needs a home," Corso replied coolly. "Earth beneath his feet. Maybe that's what you all are missing. Too much vacuum underfoot will drive you mad, you said so yourself."

Corso lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Captain," he said with genuine apology in his voice. "I know I haven't been this frank since…"

"Since the last time you left," Vondo reminded him with a tired smile. "I got it, Cor. Don't keep it bottled up, son."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that. It makes this harder."

"I still don't get why you're giving _me_ this speech. You're walking out on Juni, not me. Tell her."

Corso frowned. "I'm not walking out on her."

"No? Then why the confession?"

Corso shrugged his broad shoulders. "Sometimes things left unsaid fester. I regretted never saying anything last time I left. I kept thinking maybe if I'd said them, maybe if I'd just told you what I thought, then we could have talked about it and I wouldn't have had to leave."

Vondo's heart ached. "Listen, kid. I'm sorry we parted on bad terms. I carry my share of the blame for that."

"I never said you didn't."

Vondo smiled, and his face throbbed.

"You look like a mynock that's been through the engine a couple times," Corso teased.

"And I feel like it, too," Vondo admitted. He lowered his voice. "You and I both know you had to leave. You left a part of you on Ord Mantell when I took you off it, and you had to go back and look for it. Any kid who loses his parents feels that way. You have to check twice, just to make sure they really are gone. Did you find what you went looking for?"

Corso was silent for a moment then shook his head. "No, but I should have seen it coming. You don't go looking for your future and your past all in the same place. They're bound to get crossed. I'm not saying I'll never go back just that…I'm looking for a future somewhere else now."

Vondo smiled.

Corso's wrist comm chimed, and he glanced at the display. "Time to head out. Boss says we're short on time."

"Don't let my daughter boss you around."

"Nah, I've learned that much," Corso said with a smile. "This is the co-pilot, Risha, now." The big Ord Mantellian farm-boy got to his feet and rolled his shoulder. His armor creaked. Vondo remembered the kid taking a piece of shrapnel there a long, long time past. Were his scars becoming ghosts as well already?

Vondo nodded his head in farewell. "Take care. Stay alive."

"Seeya, Captain."

* * *

Nar Shaddaa's hectic panorama was brighter through the prosthetic eye's lens. Vondo scanned the darkening skyline. As the sun set, the billboards grew brighter. The balcony attached to the recovery ward of the hospital faced what might be, for Nar Shaddaa, a quiet view, with most of the lights coming from traffic and not the usual chaos of advertisements. The prosthetic had a holo-link, connected to a sensor embedded in the skin on Vondo's fingertips. He was a tap away from having any information; weather, news, make and model of any speeder that flew past the balcony. The implant tricked his brain into seeing the text a few inches from his face, allowing his organic eye to "see" it again. Or at least this was what his brain was telling him was happening. He severed the link as he heard the doors open from the ward, and turned to see the bounty hunter's little slicer companion, Mako, step outside.

"I've had mine since I was a kid," she said, reaching up to tap the metal plating visible at the side of her face. "Not just the prosthetic, but a hololink." She offered him a smile. "I've seen lots of people get uplinks, and sometimes they get pretty weirded-out. I thought that as a pro, I'd offer you some tips. Tip number one, close your real eye and take a good long look at the sun. Amazing." She smiled conspiratorially. "Tip number two, the prescription painkillers they give you will dull your senses and reaction times, especially where the device interfaces with your brain, so I'd try to ween myself off of them as soon as possible. I know it hurts, but you don't want to get caught with your servers down."

Vondo smiled. Mako was a good kid. She couldn't be much older than Junaida was, and yet she radiated a sort of calm that Junaida hadn't had since she'd come back to Coruscant after Ord Mantell. They started young these days. No, they'd always started young. Vondo was a little surprised to see the slicer apart from Kespar. She seemed to keep pretty close to the fearsome Chiss bounty hunter, and they'd even refused to be split up during the operation, but he still got the impression that she was more than just his pretty sidekick. She carried a blaster, and Vondo knew better than to doubt her medical skills. In fact, he'd probably be dead if it weren't for Mako's work.

"Do you keep Kespar _clean?"_ Vondo asked abruptly. He had tried to dismiss what Corso had said earlier as something said in anger, but they had stuck.

Mako considered the question for a long moment but still asked suspiciously, "What do you mean?"

"Never mind," Vondo told her, turning away to face the cityscape again.

But Mako had understood. "It's not like that," she began slowly. "Kespar's not some bloodthirsty maniac I keep in line. And it's not like I don't have a blaster of my own."

"But someone makes the call of when to pull the trigger," Vondo explained. "And sometimes you forget what pulling the trigger does. You need someone cooler, more level, softer to say 'no, not this time.'"

"Well I don't do that," Mako said firmly. "I don't pretend to know any better than he does what's right and what's wrong. Sometimes you can't see the outcome of pulling the trigger. Sometimes you can. It's all the same in the end, when pulling the trigger is what you get paid for. Blood. I just share his burden."

Vondo glanced back to her. Mako's cheeks were flushed and she stood with her hands on her hips in a stance of defiance, but her eyes were unfocused.

"Sometimes he doesn't feel the remorse, so I feel it. Sometimes I forget to be suspicious, so he is. Nobody's clean, Captain. We just lean on each other to stay sane. And alive. But I'd place a premium on alive. Not everybody would. Life over limb. But our differences spread the burden over calling the shots thinner, and it's not so bad. I don't know if that was the answer you were looking for, but I hope it helps."

Vondo smiled to himself. "Where do I get that wisdom download, kid?"

Mako smirked. "You'll pick it up as you go along, old man," she teased. She gave him a small wave and a nod before retreating from the balcony, leaving Vondo to the view and the endless line of speeders gliding silently by. He switched on his uplink again and patched in information on all the makes and models, which trailed the speeders like exhaust.

* * *

Shannin had never seen spiritual types on Nar Shaddaa before. Nobody tried to save this moon. If anyone believed there was anything or anyone worth saving here, they aptly judged the risks as outweighing the potential rewards. Still, here they were, a white-swathed healer with a ball of sweet smelling incense clutched in one gloved hand. Its face was wrapped in gauze, featureless save for two glittering ocular receptors glued to the outside. The only adornment this individual wore was the small red sun emblazoned on the cuff of their right sleeve. The individual waved the ball of incense over Shannin's bed, and for a moment Shannin was terrified. What better disguise for an assassin? She'd disguised herself as a healer more than once before in order to reach a target that lay on its deathbed but needed helping along. Was the smoke toxic? It smelled sweet. The healer knelt beside Shannin's bed, setting the smoking ball down on the ground. A faint column of smoke rose from it, dissipating into the air processors.

"Have you embraced the light into your heart, Cipher Nine?" came a familiar female voice. "Have the ghosts of those you killed forgiven you for your deeds?"

Shannin stared. "No," she replied tentatively. "The dead can give no such forgiveness. You shouldn't be here."

"I have a confession," the healer began, still clasping her hands before her as though in prayer. It was Raina Temple, her former apprentice, much like Vecher had been Jadus' apprentice. "I did not want to confess it, for I do not believe I have done wrong. Not yet, at least. But he insisted."

"What are you talking about?" Shannin asked. She reached out a hand to touch Raina's shoulder, but it was too far away. Her abdomen still pained her. She was stable again, and more lucid than she'd been in days, but too much movement would undo the kolto's work and her hospital stay would be further extended.

"Our mutual friend," Raina went on. "The one who announces the rising of the sun. The one with the night in his eyes."

Shannin frowned. Vector. But what did the Joiner, Dawn Herald of the Oroboro Hive have to do with it? "Go on."

"He and I are engaged," Raina said softly. "Finally. But he says he won't go through with it unless I confess something to you. Something I shouldn't have gone through with. An order I followed that I perhaps shouldn't have done."

Shannin's stomach twisted, and not from her injuries. Raina and Vector? But of course they were together. Who else was there for a woman like Raina Temple, Cipher Eleven, if she didn't have the same luck as Shannin to find a single good smuggler on Nar Shaddaa. If she hadn't met Vondo, she would have wanted to marry him, too. Vector was special. And so was Raina. Shannin opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it. "A confession?" she pressed.

Raina's white-swathed form was silent for a moment, kneeling perfectly still at Shannin's bedside. "On Taris," she began hurriedly, "I was charged with protecting your daughter. Imperial Intelligence also charged me with recruiting new assets. They gave me a quota, and for every month that I do not fill this quota, they execute someone I care about. Innocents I spared. Cousins. Friends. Contacts. Strangers. All I have to do is select a potential asset and initiate the Imperial brainwashing protocols in them. No programs, no instructions, just the foundations. On Taris, I had the opportunity to recruit your daughter, and I took it." She should have stopped talking, but she didn't. "I thought she would make a good agent. I still do. She declined my offer, but what she doesn't know is that I'd already set up the brainwashing protocols in her mind. She and her companion were attacked by Rakghouls. They were under my care. It was so easy to have it done. I told her she'd been infected with the plague, but you and I both know she's naturally resistant, just like her father. They based the vaccine off of his antibodies, after all. I didn't tell her what I did, but I'm telling you, Shannin. I'm asking for your forgiveness."

Raina glanced up from her clasped hands and met Shannin's eyes with the strange white lenses of her disguise. Shannin was still, too still. Raina knew that stillness. It was the stillness of a viper before it struck. Raina tried to move, but she was too slow.

Pain in her stomach suddenly forgotten, Shannin tore the cords from the nearest machine with a single tug, reaching out to grasp Raina by the front of her robes. She looped the cables around the agent's neck and pulled them tight. Raina gasped for breath, hands clenching on the bedsheets as a dozen alarms went off on the machines next to them. Shannin ignored them.

Raina could have fought back, and if she was lucky she might even have overpowered Shannin. Shannin was unarmed and weakened, and Raina had a shiv strapped to her thigh underneath her robes, but Raina did not fight back, except to loosen the cords a fraction so that she could breathe. She coughed and choked, trying to pull away, but Shannin held her still. On a good day, yes, Raina could have overpowered the injured woman, but this was a very bad day, and Shannin was very, very angry.

"You did _what_?" she hissed, rising to her knees and pulling Raina's head around so that her shoulders were at her knees at the edge of the bed. She could snap her neck like this easily, or choke her with the cords. Raina reached out with the Force and tried to shove Shannin away, but she had never been trained to do this. This was her secret, and it was more dangerous for her to learn to master it than it was for her to leave it untapped. Shannin let go of her anyway. She glanced beside her bed for another weapon, but there was nothing. No vibro-scalpels, no needles, nothing, and her insides were on fire. She leaned back and coughed up blood.

"Raina!" she shouted as the younger Cipher stumbled to her feet across the room. "How?"

"I'm sorry!"

"You _know_ how much pain that brainwashing caused me. You know what I went through to get free of it. I am still working to free myself from it."

"I tell you this out of the love I had for you!" Raina insisted, tearing the gauze from her face so she could breathe better. Underneath the white fabric her dark skin was flushed, her eyes wet with tears. Was she crying from being choked, or because she was upset? Shannin didn't care.

"I will kill you for this, Raina," Shannin swore. "You were like a daughter or a sister to me. You know I'd have killed for you, so you _know_ I should kill you for what you've done to Junaida. You've taken her free will from her, and I will _never_ forgive you for that."

Raina continued to cry. "Please, Shannin. Listen to me. They would have killed Vector."

Shannin felt sick. Her mouth was full of blood. She spat onto the floor. "She's my child, Raina."

"I know." Raina hung her head. "I deserve to die."

Shannin took a deep breath that rattled through her lungs. "You and I both deserve to die a hundred times over," she said calmly. "But nobody gets what they deserve. Not even what they think they deserve. I'm not going to kill you." Her voice was filled with weariness. Medical droids appeared at the door, emitting high pitched trills of distress as they saw the state of the room.

"Carcinogens are strictly forbidden inside the hospital!" one reprimanded. "Destruction of hospital equipment is punishable by fine!"

Both agents ignored it.

"Do you want to know what her keyword is?" Raina asked tentatively, approaching the bed once more.

Shannin nodded. "Yes."

To be continued in _Legacies 2: Heritrix _

See author profile for status/expected upload dates. Thank you for reading!


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